


You Filthy Ghoul

by Selion



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Denial of Feelings, Drug Use, Fist Fights, Ghoul Sex, Hancock has a dirty mouth, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Porn With Plot, Rimming, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2018-10-20 18:31:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10668375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selion/pseuds/Selion
Summary: His hand clamped down harder on Danse's face as the paladin's eyes widened. "And you know what? You're gonna let me. Cuz you want it, don't you, sweetheart?" His face dropped even closer, his bloody lips touching Danse's as he spoke. He could feel the skin of Danse's neck hump up into goosebumps under his fingers. "Don't you?"(Progresses from Hate sex to Eh, I Guess He's Alright sex.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Danse learns the valuable lesson of: Don't start nothin', won't be nothin'.

It was the constant pissy looks that started it.

The snide, passive-aggressive remarks that kept it going.

And it was the collision that finally set it off.

Yeah, he could admit it. He had been sloppy, stumbling drunk when it happened; maybe not one-hundred-percent looking where he was going on his way back to his bunk. He'd plowed right into the tin can's shiny metal chest and gone stumbling off into the side of the house. Simple mistake. He'd even apologized, sorta. But from the way Danse reacted, you'd’ve thought Hancock had slapped him and called his mother a brahmin shagger.

His eyes had darkened, the thick eyebrows drawing together in a frown and his lip pulling back in a sneer. Danse had taken a thudding step toward Hancock, hands clenching like he was holding back from just grabbing him and throttling him right there. "Stay. The hell. Away from me, you filthy  _ ghoul _ ," he’d hissed, spitting the last word out like a curse. All the piss and vinegar woulda almost been funny if he didn't look so deadly serious. Hancock stayed leaning against the wooden boards behind him, hand curled lightly around the hilt of his knife as he watched Danse stride off. But he’d seemed pretty damn serious. So it wasn't funny.

Which is how Hancock wound up in Danse's room, perched in an easy chair and having a nice, slow-burning seethe going on while he waited for the paladin to come back and turn in for the night. He scraped little pieces of dirt from under his short nails with his buck knife and flicked them at the door as he waited. The constant, obvious glaring and even the comments could be forgiven; his feelings didn't get hurt that easily. But if the jumped-up boyscout thought he could threaten and insult him with no backlash, he would have to set him straight. You don't fuck with John Hancock. And nevermind even that; you don’t fuck with the people you live with.

_ Too bad about that arrogant fucking attitude _ , he thought, as his eyes roved around the room, lighting on Danse's power armor in the corner. All neat and clean just like its owner.  _ Cuz he's also real damn pretty to look at. _ He reached in a pocket, dug around 'til he found what he was looking for. Small pill, grainy texture, big cross carved on one side. He absently popped it into his mouth and swallowed before it could start to dissolve. If he was about to assault someone so much bigger and stronger than him, he needed a bit of an edge. Didn't plan on hurting the prick, but he wasn't going to be nice about it either.

Footsteps fell outside. Boots thunking on the porch up to the door. Hancock dropped his hands to his thighs, body tense and wired. The buffout had already done its work on his body and his mind; his ropy muscles were singing and buzzing under his skin and come to think of it, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to rough him up a  _ little _ . He ran his tongue over his teeth as the door swung open.

Silent as a shadow, Hancock stood and glided across the floor behind the man who had walked in. He was much more manageable without the hulking frame of armor around him. In a quick dash, he snagged a wrist, twisting it back and up along Danse's spine while his other hand reached around Danse’s right shoulder and pressed his knife up against the stubbly throat. Hancock's chest was firmly pushed against the broad, muscled back and his hot breaths blew against Danse's ear. Danse lunged and tried to break loose, throw him off, but the ghoul was completely wrapped around him and the cold edge of the knife tilted inward, forcing Danse to slow his movements. He could feel the soldier's body twitching with fury and smiled against his neck, softly dragging his cheek against the skin there. Knowing it was just goddamn revolting for him.

"Good evening, paladin," he whispered, still straining to keep Danse from breaking away. The buffout racing through his blood and muscles had lent him quite a lot of strength, but even that was barely enough to restrain the rippling hard body underneath him. He yanked up on the captured wrist and stepped on the back of one knee, forcing him to kneel as he followed him to the floor. "Quit your fucking squirming," he hissed, pressing closer. Danse gradually relented and stilled when he realized the struggling wasn’t working. "Now, I think we need to have a talk."

"You." Venom in his voice. The knife bobbed slightly as Danse swallowed. "Get your hands off me and get the hell out. I have nothing to say to you."

Hancock pointed the blade away and dug his fingers into the flesh of his neck instead, angling his head to the side so he could see Danse's right eye and that half of his face. He looked pretty angry about something. "Mm mm mm. I'll leave when I'm done. We need to have a discussion about the way you talk to people." The eye closed and Danse's lips parted, drawing air through his mouth. Hancock readjusted his grip on the wrist straining against him and lay his chin on top of the bulging shoulder. If Danse opened his eyes, Hancock's own pitch-black one would be right there. "I get it, okay? You don't like ghouls. You've made that...  _ far _ beyond abundantly clear. Ghouls, synths, mutants, anything that's not a perfect, pure human like you."

Danse grunted and choked out through his constricted throat "Should all be eradi--kkkch," his words turned into a hacking wheeze as Hancock's fingers tightened even harder.

"Ah ah ah, shut your fuckin' mouth right now. This is what I'm talking about. Look at me." Hancock shook Danse's jaw. "You usually can't keep your pretty eyes off me.  _ Look. At me. _ " Danse's eye slid open and tilted back to look at him, full of rage. "Good boy," Hancock mockingly patted his cheek, maybe a little harder than necessary. "I'm not gonna call this friendly advice, because we're damn far from being friends, but keep that shit to yourself and back the hell off. I'm tired of it. You're doing nothing but making enemies and trouble, y'feel me?"

Hancock suddenly released him and stepped back; Danse lurched forward and put a hand to his neck, gingerly touching it as he retched and coughed. Hancock was keyed up and jittery; he shifted around in his boots as he watched Danse stagger to his feet. His lips pulled back from his teeth in a shark-like grin as Danse turned to face him, glowering and roughly straightening out the thick jumpsuit that had gotten twisted around as the two struggled.  _ Do something _ , he silently dared him.  _ Please come at me _ .

He sheathed his knife then pulled another dose of buffout from his pocket and tossed it in his mouth, crunching down on it and letting the bitter powder coat his tongue. The smile hadn't left his face and he was staring unblinking at Danse. Only a few feet separated them. Danse rolled his shoulders and clenched his fists, sizing him up. 

"That's all I had," Hancock said. "But what? You want something else? Will an ass-kicking help soothe your pride?" Outright goading now. In the back of his mind, he knew it wasn't smart to start a stupid fight like this but in this moment, he wanted it real bad. He dropped his shoulders and spread his hands out, beckoning. "Yeah? Let's see what you can do without your armor, princess."

Danse didn't answer, he just flung himself at Hancock; catching him around the waist and throwing them both to the floor. Hancock had a dizzy moment to realize his hat had been knocked off before he had to twist his head out of the way of Danse's fist flying at him. The punch slammed into the boards beside him, sending a small puff of dust against his neck. The next minutes were a panting flurry of fists, knees, teeth, and growled curses. They rolled and scraped across the dirty wood floor, nerves screeching and muscles exploding forward into forceful thuds and grunts. The room was getting trashed as they lunged and staggered around knocking chairs and tables over and crashing into shelves. A canister of fusion cells rattled across the floor to join a stack of papers that had been tipped over. With all the noise it was a wonder no one had come to see what the disturbance was. 

After a particularly good jab to his side, Hancock had a second to wonder if maybe a dose of psycho would have been a better idea, but then quickly shut that down. Psycho was for when you literally wanted to tear something's head off and then shower in its blood, not a scuffle like this.

Hancock wrestled Danse onto his back, pinning his hands down by his shoulders as he bucked and twisted underneath the ghoul. He was trying to shake loose, but didn’t have enough force to push him off. Hancock sniffed and hawked out a splat of blood and snot at the wall. His face and stomach were aching from the impacts and his knuckles stung from where he'd landed his own hits. From the throb in his lower lip he guessed it had been split open. He leaned down, getting his face right in Danse's. He looked similarly winded, panting and a tiny rill of blood running from where his brow had been cut. "You done yet?" Hancock asked.

As he bent down over Danse, their hips came together, a slow, soft drag. Danse's eyes widened, looking utterly shocked, and those damn pouty lips fell open in a quiet moan. Hancock froze, dark eyes tracing over the paladin's face.  _ Well, well. _ The eyes met his, a look of fear... no, it was shame in them. Shame and lust. That could be a dangerous combination. Or really useful. His chest was heaving, skin flushed pink, and pupils were wide and dark. 

"Man, you're really fucked up, huh," Hancock murmured. He could feel the burning heat radiating off Danse, and the hard length of his dick pressing into his thigh through the jumpsuit. A brotherhood devotee writhing and moaning under a ghoul; wonders would never cease. Hancock could take a guess at the paladin's odd reaction; beating the shit out of another man with his bare fists always made  _ him _ really fucking horny. But how embarrassing for Danse.

Danse sucked in a breath, his still-trapped hands squeezing shut and the thick tendons in his wrists straining. "Goddamnit," he gritted. "Don't. Touch me."

This was too good. Their faces were still mere inches apart and he licked his lip where he could feel a drip of blood. Danse's eyes dropped, following the motion, and then back up. "Why don't you make me?" Hancock growled. Deliberately, eyes still locked, he sank a little further down and slid his body up against Danse's again. Harder this time, and rolling his hips in a sinuous wave.

Danse snarled and quickly threw all his weight to the side, snapping the grip Hancock had on his arms. He leaned back, having lost his supports and was promptly hit in the jaw by Danse's fist. It didn't have his full power behind it due to no wind-up room, but Hancock’s vision whited-out in a sharp blast anyway. Danse quickly sat up, knocking Hancock to the floor with his legs tangled up around Danse's knees. "You scum." His voice was low and deadly. "I said don't touch me." The soldier's huge hands buried themselves in the front of his shirt and dragged the ghoul closer with a sharp wrench. Hancock had only a split second to realize what he was about to do before Danse's lips crushed against his own. His stubble scratched against his skin, teeth a hard barrier under the soft lips, hot breath in a quick burst from his nose, and it was fucking electric.  _ Oh no _ , Hancock thought nonsensically as he sank into the kiss.  _ You’re breaking the ruuules. _

Hancock dug his hands into Danse's hair, enjoying the thick silkiness of it as he clenched his fingers at the back of his head. Danse's teeth scraped over his lip, tongue plunging into his mouth, and hands blindly ripping off Hancock's red overcoat. He shrugged out of it along with the underlying waistcoat and dropped them to the floor as Danse continued the urgent assault on his lips and jaw. Hands pressed him closer, digging into his back and waist as his breath rushed in and out. His skin tingled where Danse's short beard scratched it, contrasting the wet presses of flesh and hot whispers of breath. 

This was... an extremely appealing turn of events, considering what he'd expected when breaking in earlier. But much as he’d like to, he couldn’t let himself get completely carried away, not quite yet. He tipped his head to the side, unclasping the buckle at Danse's throat and started unfastening the front of the jumpsuit. Danse's hands fell to grasp at his hips and Hancock took the opportunity to attack, moving back and yanking the shoulders of the suit down to right above elbow height, trapping his arms to his sides. For once, the big, bulky muscles were acting against him. Perfect. Danse twisted and lunged, struggling and failing to get to his feet with anger in his eyes but no real surprise to speak of. It was a good thing these suits were made sturdy; Danse was putting every effort into simultaneously trying to shimmy out of the confines and trying to just burst through them by flexing.

Hancock stood, taking the chance to quickly catch his breath. The air felt nice on his skin and he fluffed his shirt out to fan more onto his chest. The heels of his boots clocked quietly as he turned back to Danse. This was immense fun, but he needed Danse a little humbler than when he'd come in. And just sitting back and letting Danse strip him naked, while very tempting, wouldn’t help much with that. 

The paladin had thrashed around into a kneeling position, legs spread apart and thigh muscles taut. Hancock’s eye traveled up over the round hips and small mounds of his abs to the thick planes of his exposed chest and the fine dusting of dark hair that coated them. He sighed, amused at himself. Jesus christ, when was the last time he'd been this fucking rock hard?

"Just hold on a minute," Hancock said, walking back to where Danse was kneeling. Around to his back, just standing there above him, looking down at the soft mass of hair. His hand dropped down, fingertips touching the hot forehead then sliding back through the fine strands. So soft. At the crown, he gently closed his fist and tilted Danse's head back to look at him upside-down. "Let's get back to why I’m even here before all of that." He dropped to his own knees behind Danse in a mirror of their earlier positions, draping an arm over Danse's shoulders and resting his chin on his shoulder. He blew a breath out and smiled a little. "We've really got to stop meeting like this." The paladin had stopped thrashing around, but his body was practically vibrating. With anger, most likely. He ignored the stupid joke. Hancock continued on. "I don't think we ever came to an agreement. Were you going to do what I asked and keep those nasty comments to yourself?"

Danse grunted, saying nothing. His shoulders contracted and released. He was squeezing his fists as hard as he could.

That was alright. He'd get something out of him. Hancock nuzzled closer, his cheek brushing Danse's neck and ear, lips pressing a half-kiss to the damp skin. Danse moaned again, trying to quiet himself as soon as it slipped out. Hancock's voice was low and velvety as he spoke behind Danse's ear, "I just...  _ hate _ to think what your brothers would say," Danse's body stiffened and he took a sharp breath in. "...if they knew what you were up to right now." Hancock's hand traced the edge of the jumpsuit, half sliding on cloth and the other half through the short fur of Danse's chest hair. The threat wasn't serious. He didn't have nearly enough motivation or a need for petty vengeance to go try to tattle to any of those assholes. Danse probably didn't really believe it either, but it was kinda fun to watch him squirm about it.

"You wouldn't," he said, a tinge of panic in his voice. He coughed. "Impossible anyway. No one would listen."

The hand went lower, finger hooking over where the jumpsuit was still joined together. Lower over the stomach, the muscles twitching back. Danse made a strangled noise of anticipation as the fingertips lightly traced their way over him, and then closed over the throbbing shaft straining against the fabric. His hand glided all the way down, gently caressing and then back up, palm applying solid pressure. "I can be pretty persuasive if I need to be, I don't think you want to test me on _ that _ ," Hancock whispered, pushing his lips and nose through the short hairs at the back of his head. He changed his grip, stroking him once through the suit... and then moving away. Danse's hips involuntarily jerked against him, trying to follow his hand. He hissed loudly, shutting his eyes. "All I want is your word. You keep your mouth shut, and so will I. Easy."

Danse panted, his head leaning back against Hancock's chest and his hips thrust out. If Hancock didn't know better, he might think the poor guy was in some kind of distress. "Fine," Danse finally groaned out.

"Yeah?" His hand ghosted back over Danse, tracing tiny, teasing circles on the sensitive underside. "Let's hear a 'Yes, sir', soldier boy." Hancock's teeth latched onto Danse's ear, tongue flicking against the soft skin. "And yes, I'm serious."

"Jesus," Danse whispered under his breath. A long pause. Neither of them moved, Hancock's arms wrapped around him still. It was evident he wouldn't let him go without getting those few words out of Danse. Or keep touching him. Danse growled, the sound thick and annoyed. "Yes...  _ sir _ , I will keep my mouth shut." His teeth were locked together in a snarl, and he sounded deeply humiliated.

"Very good." Hancock chuckled, perversely delighted.  _ The next time you say that, I hope you remember kneeling on the floor with a ghoul jerking you off. _ This was a matter of pride and not really much else. He hadn't come here expecting to magically cure the brotherhood drone of his biases; that little superficial agreement was enough.

He shifted a little closer, coming to a decision that had been forming ever since Danse had first let slip that first quiet moan. Time for his personal credo in life to shine again: try everything at least once. And banging a ghoul-hater was a new one. "It's late, but there's  _ one _ last little thing I think we need to take care of."

"What  _ now _ ?" Danse sounded livid.

Hancock laughed harder, disdainful. "You need to loosen up, man." His hands joined at Danse's chest and resumed unhooking his jumpsuit as his breath fell over the back of Danse’s neck. "And you know exactly what I'm talking about, pretty boy." 

The straining fabric popped apart and Danse's arms were loose at his side again, unfettered by the tight sleeves. He shook his hands out and then immediately whipped his arm up and around and grabbed Hancock's shoulder, dragging him sideways. Hancock's reflexes took over and he shifted all his weight along with Danse's momentum so the paladin ended up thumping to his back instead of him. Hancock's palms slammed to the floor on either side of Danse's head. His blood was racing and he could feel it surging all through his body. He blew a breath over his lip and got right up close to Danse's face, threateningly looming over him. "Is  _ this _ what we're gonna do all night?  _ Huh _ ?" The subtext was clear: stop struggling.

Danse was frozen still. Eyes meeting and then skittering away from his own. Funny. The lack of eyebrows and the solid black of his eyes usually made it difficult for unpracticed humans to read his emotional weather. Some found the rare mutation disconcerting, especially at such close range and found it hard to meet his gaze for long. Danse swallowed and asked, "What do you want then?"

"You really wanna know? Honestly?" Hancock's hand came up to Danse's face and gently touched his cheek. Danse blinked as the ghoul's thumb rubbed over his lips. "A few hits of jet and my dick in your ass. Maybe choke you a little. That's what I want." His hand clamped down harder on Danse's face as the paladin's eyes widened. "And you know what? You're gonna let me. Cuz you want it, don't you, sweetheart?" His face dropped even closer, his bloody lips touching Danse's as he spoke and their heavy breaths intermingling. He could feel the skin of Danse's neck hump up into goosebumps under his fingers. "Don't you? You want me to fuck you."

There was the shame again, writ plainly in Danse's eyes. Yeah, he'd hit upon it. It wasn't the fighting that'd gotten him revved up, it was Hancock himself. A forbidden, taboo abomination. He desired what he was disgusted with. Boy, did he. Hancock could see lust etched in each line of his face. Danse's eyes closed as he answered, lips moving against Hancock’s and voice almost too quiet to hear. "Yes."

A wicked grin spread over Hancock's face as a burning heat unfurled in his gut. Fuck yeah. That's what he wanted. Danse's suit was ripped off in a harsh whisper and was discarded along with his boots. He took a moment to appreciate the beauty of the body in front of him as he knelt between Danse’s legs. Pale and muscular, each line and angle flowing together perfectly. A few shadows of future bruises had sprung up in a few places and a long ugly scrape decorated one shin. He desperately wanted to bite and dig his claws in everywhere, piercing and raking red marks into the sweat-covered torso. Instead, he calmly undid the buttons on his shirt and brought his eyes back up to Danse's face, giving a simple command. "Go on and touch yourself, paladin. Slowly."

Danse hesitated, looking like he wanted to protest. But he acquiesced, trailing his hand down his body and loosely grabbing himself, making long lazy strokes as he lay there looking with a critical eye at the ghoul undressing. The fingers barely brushing the shaft then squeezing tight near the head. Loosen, slide back down, repeat. Hips rocking with the movements. Shit. He was a little too good at that.

Hancock exhaled and yanked his own dark pants down to his knees before sticking two fingers in his mouth and covering them with spit. He shoved Danse's legs back, rolling his hips up and allowing access to what he was after. His fingers dragged up the cleft of Danse's ass, massaging the delicate skin. Danse's hand faltered and his eyes had closed, drawing in deep breaths as Hancock slid in. He pressed deeper, loving the breathy gasps Danse made each time he shoved closer. "You ever done this before?"

Danse wouldn't look at him. "A... few times. A long time ago."

"Mm." He dragged in and out, the tightness very gradually lessening as Danse relaxed. He withdrew and drooled a long string of saliva down onto his cock, stroking himself and spreading the wetness all over. Hancock wished he had some actual lube, but got the feeling the only kind of lubricant Danse would have on-hand would be for his armor or rifle, no innuendo intended. He briefly glanced down as he gripped and stretched, admiring the view. Long, thin, and heavily scarred and marked, just like the rest of him. Hancock grabbed Danse's hip and dragged him closer, positioned himself right where he needed to be, and stopped. It took quite a bit of willpower to not just buck forward and sheathe himself in the quivering ass right then.

"You want this, brotherhood?" Hancock slowly rubbed the wet tip of his dick up and back down, pulling Danse close each time he passed over the entrance.

"Yes." Danse's voice was even lower than normal, a deep, vibrating bass. His hand was still lightly dragging over his dick, the head glistening with wetness.

"Yes what?"

Danse’s eyes cracked open, glaring at him through mostly-closed lids. Hancock stared back, waiting impassively. Danse's lip curled upwards as he answered, showing his teeth. "I'm not going to beg from a ghoul," he snarled.

Hancock leaned forward, catching Danse's jaw and neck in his hand. "Don't," he started, releasing his neck and changing direction to slap his cheek. Not hard enough to really hurt, but definitely enough to sting and leave a pink mark. "Don't fucking talk back to me, paladin."

Danse growled, his eyes flaring open and jaw jutting defiantly. "Then don’t waste my time, just do it."

Hancock smacked him again, Danse's head turning to the side and lips peeling back from his teeth. But he did as he was asked. He pressed in past the first tight ring of muscle as Danse's body tensed and arced back against the floor. Inch by inch he slid in, each movement accompanied by a hard breath from Danse until he was seated flush against him. Hancock groaned quietly, the first push was always the best. Almost unbearably tight and muscles spasming, trying to accommodate the intrusion. He laid a hand on Danse's chest, hot skin and hair against his palm and heartbeat thundering away below. He slid it up, pressing against collarbone and up to his throat. He squeezed, blood and breath running so close to his hand. The other clamped onto Danse's thigh, anchoring him still as he began to move, rocking against him gently. He tilted upwards to rub against that little sweet spot.

Danse moaned and threw his head back, eyes staring off to the opposite wall and tendons standing out in his neck. His hands flew down to his sides, grasping at the wooden floorboards below him but unable to catch hold of anything. Hancock sped up, getting into a good rhythm for himself. Fucking hell. All the teasing and rubbing from earlier had set him close to the edge already. The hot tightness around his dick and the groaning, writhing stud gracing his field of vision was getting him close at an alarming speed. He leaned back, closing his eyes and trying to rein it back in for a moment as his breaths rushed in and out.  _ The paladin first, and  _ then _ you're allowed. _

"Mm mm." He slapped a hand against the back of Danse's thigh, earning a startled bark. "I never said you could stop." He reached down and took Danse's dick in his hand and pumped in rhythm with his thrusts. Danse's eyes fell to his and watched him, huffing and biting his lip as his orgasm built. Hancock's skin tingled and burned. Ugh, he was close. And... here went Danse. His body jolted, hips rolling into his hand and thrusting against him. He cried out wordlessly as he jetted messily onto his own stomach. Hancock quickly followed, pulling out and letting the fiery waves crash over him as the pressure finally released and his own fell over Danse's body, painting him with white streaks. He looked pretty fucking good laying there sprawled out, panting and covered in sweat and jizz.

Head buzzing and reluctant to move, but knowing it would probably be a good idea not to linger, he grabbed his shirt and hastily wiped Danse and then himself off. Tucked everything back into his pants, clapped his hat back on his head, and threw his coat around bare shoulders. He glanced down at Danse, who still hadn't moved much, save to throw an arm under his head. His breathing seemed to be back to normal and his face looked peaceful and relaxed.  _ Post-sex glow. Cute.  _ Time to get out before it faded back into something ugly; he didn't want to wait around and see what kind of regrets would pop up from something like this.

Hancock took a step towards the door and stopped. This might be pushing it, but eh. He didn't like just running out after, no matter who it was. Couldn't have been that bad anyway seeing as Danse was still naked and just calmly lying there. Hancock reversed and nudged Danse's calf with the toe of his boot. One listless eye opened, slid up Hancock's body to rest on his face. "What?"

Yeah. What. What do you say to a guy who wants you and all your kind dead but you also wouldn't really mind staring into his eyes as he comes again? "See you, paladin. I'm around if you want me." A brash grin spread over his face. "And I know you do."

Danse snorted and turned his face away. There was a pink flush on his cheeks and running down his neck. "Get the hell out of my room, ghoul."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hancock is just trying to have good times and Danse is angrily unable to control his urges.

Weeks passed with no words exchanged or any kind of real interaction between them. Hancock saw Danse around time to time when they both happened to be at the settlement; banging out dents in his armor at the workbench, patrolling the perimeter, or just sitting and relaxing somewhere. He seemed to like the heat of the sun and the cool breeze of the night equally. On the few occasions one caught the other's eye, Danse would look away first, face neutral as if he didn't recognize him. The first couple times Hancock couldn't help but smile quizzically after him, amused at the very obvious cold shoulder he was getting. After that he forgot about it. Made sense.

The weather turned from warm to sweltering. Fans were on full blast all over the co-op and everyone was turning a little more nocturnal than usual to avoid the blistering daylight hours. Hancock lay stretched out on his bed, clad only in a thin pair of cotton pants; heavy velvet coat long since abandoned in the small wardrobe on the wall. There was one last little hit of jet in the red plastic inhaler in his hand. He took it, sucking in the mist and relishing the horrible acrid taste of chemicals burning down his throat and into his lungs as time crawled slower and the colors around him deepened and spread. So gross, but so good. His eyes closed as he held it in, then opened again and let the breath out in a quiet hiss. His head and lungs felt airy and expanded, his heart fluttered in his chest, and a cool prickle ran over his scalp, stomach, and splayed out legs. Time passed sluggishly as he lay there, staring upward at flickering gold dust motes passing through the light from the solitary lamp in his room. As the high gradually faded away the vibrancy of the light faded back to normal and the darkness of the room pressed in again.

A quiet knock sounded at the door; quiet enough that if he'd been asleep the sound likely wouldn't have woken him. It was the dead of night, probably pushing more toward morning by now and he wasn't expecting anyone, but jet had a lovely lingering effect of pushing away things like "concerns" and "suspicions". He licked his lips and raised his voice a little to carry it to the far wall, "Come in, come in... whoever the fuck goes there."

He heard the door creak open and tick shut again. Then deliberate, carefully measured footsteps, with an unmistakable weight to them. Only one person around here walked like that. "Paladin," he said, surprised. He turned his head to see Danse approaching, head tipped down and face in shadow. Following the tune of everyone else around, he'd forgone his standard brotherhood-issue jumpsuit in lieu of a plain t-shirt and pair of lightweight slacks. Seems the heat even got to tin cans. It was a good look for him. As he drew closer, Hancock could see that his expression was blank but his jaw was clenched tightly shut. That probably meant trouble.

Before he could get another word out, Danse yanked Hancock to his feet. His back was slammed against the wall and Danse loomed up around him, dominating his view. An uneasy thrill spiked through his chest as his breath was rattled loose and adrenaline flushed through him. His body was stirring, reacting enthusiastically to the sudden show of force.

He had invited Danse to come find him, he remembered that much. But the paladin looked overly aggravated at something. Enraged maybe. Even if Hancock wasn't still feeling the last smeary pulses of the jet, it was going to be a lop-sided fight if Danse really wanted to go after him. It was kind of exciting, actually; the not knowing. Was he going to kiss him again, or break his jaw? Who knew!

Hancock looked back into the blazing face, burying his feverish energy under a warm, easy voice, "Hey, man." He tried shifting his shoulders around experimentally. They didn't move a centimeter in Danse’s grip. "Can't sleep?"

Danse closed his eyes, looking like he was trying to hold something big and volatile back before he exploded. He leaned forward and touched his forehead against Hancock's. Like his hands, the skin was damp and very hot. His words were halted and intense. "No. I can't."

The gesture and the answer said everything. Hancock tilted his face up, the side of his lips resting on Danse's cheek. His breath flowed over burning skin, jaw scratching against the short, scrubby beard. "Hmm. And so you came to see _me_." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "What on Earth for?"

"I..." Danse's throat clicked as he swallowed, uncertainty edging through the aggression. He sounded as if he was seriously considering turning and marching back out the door. "I don't know."

Hancock bared his teeth in a mocking smile. "Yeah, horseshit. You know why. You wanted to come touch me again. Feel my skin under your hands," he said, words getting more pointed as he spoke. "Or maybe something more than that. You wanted my lips around your cock; fingers clawing at your hips as you slam into my throat." Danse shuddered and blew out a shaky breath. He might have him physically pinned here, but Hancock had Danse hooked on his every word. "No? Something simpler then. Just a quick fuck to scratch that itch I know you've got. Pick me up and pound into me right here against the wall like a bar slut, huh?"

A hard pulse ticked in Danse's body and his hands clenched. He could smell the desire on Danse, leaking out of his pores, on his breath. Resentment, excitement, dirty animalistic lust. "Come on, I know what you’re here for." Hancock scraped his teeth over the damp neck. "What are you gonna do to me?" he mumbled before biting down harder.

That did it. Danse drew back and his eyes twitched from Hancock's face down his body to the drawstring on his pants. His hands ripped the closure loose followed by a foot stepping on the cuffs and then Danse simply lifting Hancock up and against him. Fuck. It was very apparent how strong Danse was just from looking at him, but when he made a show of it... it was incredibly arousing. One large hand supported his ass, the other curled tightly around his thin waist. His own hands ran up over Danse’s collarbones before coming to rest in the air with his arms laid loosely over the thick shoulders. His legs wrapped around Danse's hips, supporting himself as his back was pinned against the uneven wall. It was unusual being completely naked with a fully-clothed partner, but it was kind of working for him.

Danse's lips pressed against his, ungentle and needy. His hands grasped hard and pulled Hancock's hips against his stomach. He bucked into it, chasing the friction and contact. The lips were soon replaced by fingers. Looking back at Danse, the all-black eyes set on dark brown, he slowly sucked them into his mouth. Danse moaned softly, his other hand squeezing tight around Hancock's thigh. The ghoul's tongue licked down the sides of the thick index finger and then up to flick against the fingertip. "Actually," Hancock said, pulling off slowly. "There's some lube in there if you want to make this a little easier on us both." He nodded down at the nightstand in the corner.

Danse wrapped his hand around Hancock's jaw, wet fingers smearing his cheek. "Yeah, fine," he breathed against him. Danse dropped him back onto his bed and moved to open the drawer. After several moments of rummaging he had a container in hand and came back to stand over Hancock with an amused look on his face.

Hancock crossed his arms under his head, chest pushed out and legs dangling off the edge of the mattress. He pointed his toes, flexing the muscles of his calves. "What's that look for? I like to jerk off in comfort sometimes."

Danse's face was back to carefully neutral as he knelt on the bed and uncapped the tube, looking down and unbuttoning the fly of his pants. "It was mostly about the other stuff in there."

"Oh. Yeah. Well, listen," Hancock said, laughing a little as he watched Danse pour some of the oily liquid onto his hand and work it over his cock. "When you grow up, paladin, you can buy yourself toys too, you know."

A grunt and low roll of his eyes was his answer. "I'll remember that when I get more mature." A hand lifted his hips as slick fingers probed against him then slowly pushed in, twisting. Hancock's breath hitched and he closed his eyes, feeling the pressure and slight sting gradually give way to warmth and a need for more as the fingers rocked into him. Danse grabbed Hancock again, handling him like he weighed nothing and roughly returned him to his previous position against the wall.

Danse wasn't gentle with him. There was a desperation in his rough, jerky thrusts and harsh panting. His hands dug into Hancock's waist, keeping him at the right height as he slammed up into him. Hancock's back was rubbing into the wall, but even that felt fine. His hands curled into the hair at the back of Danse's head as they both leaned forward, mouths open and breathing hard. "Please," Hancock panted, not really knowing what he was asking for. Just more. His heels dug into the small of Danse's back and his short nails scratched across the fabric of his shirt as Danse pounded into him. Both of their bodies dripped with sweat; each small breath of wind from the outside giving just a tease of relief.

Danse was starting to come close; Hancock could feel the way his body was tensing and how the harsh rolling of his hips began to falter. He took Danse's chin in his hand, tipping it up so he could see his face. Heavy eyebrows drawn together in concentration, eyes both focused and far away, mouth red and wet. He leaned in and kissed the full lower lip, sucking on it then gently biting.

"C'mon, sweetheart,” he growled. “You can fuck me harder."

Danse grunted and his hands dug in tighter, thrusts getting stronger and deeper. He came, his sultry, half-closed eyes locked on Hancock's and moaning along with each hard spasm. God, he was beautiful.

Danse slowly pulled himself free and lowered the ghoul's feet back to the floor. Hancock leaned against the wall for a moment, not trusting his legs to hold him quite yet. His ass burned and his dick was extremely hard, the tip brushing against his belly as he breathed. He found an old towel to wipe off with and then tossed it over to Danse, who'd sat on the edge of his bed.

"Thanks." Danse fastened his pants, again fully clothed. He beckoned to Hancock. "Come here." His voice was still hoarse with exertion, but the tone was friendly enough. Hancock obeyed, taking the few steps to stand in front of him, hands on bare hips.

"You weren't wrong, earlier," Danse started, putting out a calloused hand and pulling the fingers softly down the jagged skin of Hancock's stomach. It trailed down hip and thigh and clasped around his leg, thumb moving in small circles. His skin prickled where he'd been touched and he leaned into Danse's hand. He wasn't too far off from his own release and the gentle petting was pushing him closer. Danse continued, his eyes downcast as his other hand stroked up from calf to knee to thigh, "I _do_ want to touch. Here, sit." He moved back, spreading his legs out to make a space right in front of him. Hancock raised his eyebrows, but did so, nestled comfortably between Danse's thighs with his back against his chest.

Danse's breath fell over the nape of his neck as he spoke. "Never really had the chance before... and also never wanted to." He sighed, frustration turning his breath into a grumble. "Until you."

He could feel both the hesitation and eagerness in the way Danse touched him, and damn if that didn’t make it even hotter. Both hands lit on his thighs, pressing into the crags of his skin and the taut muscle underneath. Up to his hipbones, which he grabbed and pulled Hancock's ass firmly back against him. One hand continued up, tracing over stomach and then smoothing down over his ribs. A feathery graze over one collarbone and then down over the other pec. Hancock was straining against the other hand remaining on his hip, trying his best to tense and roll into the air. Each touch was sending a new jolt through him, starting at Danse's rough fingers and ending somewhere behind his balls, tingling and spreading. It was torturous but also felt so good. His breathing had picked up again, needy panting as Danse continued the exploration but very conspicuously avoided one area.

Hancock threw his head back, and growled into Danse's ear, "Finish me. Right now. Stop being fucking mean."

At first, Danse ignored him. His lips pressed into Hancock's shoulder and then tilted against his neck, sending yet more shivers down his back as his hands lightly touched Hancock's chest. He murmured against the straining cords of muscle, deep voice rumbling into him, "Is that what you want, ghoul?"

He could beg for it, he wasn't proud. "Paladin, please." His voice sounded desperate and pained. Fine. It matched the throbbing ache in his body. "Please let me come."

Hancock could feel the thick lips curl into a smile against his neck and the scruff on his cheek scratch against him. Danse gripped him firmly and began a slow, controlled stroke that immediately had him squirming and rocking his hips. All the heat in him seemed to draw together and cling where Danse's hand was.

"Oh, fffuuuck-- fucking _shit_ ," he groaned out, feeling the rush surging through his body as his orgasm began to crash over him. Danse latched his teeth onto Hancock's neck as he came, turning his moan into a hoarse series of shouts and curses as he spilled across the floor. The hand stayed on him, teasing out the last few spurts until Hancock just collapsed backwards into Danse's chest, legs shaky and lungs burning. He leaned against the solid wall of person behind him for a moment, closing his eyes and letting the adrenaline drain slowly away to be replaced by warm satisfaction. Mother _fuck_ yes.

Reluctant to do it, but also unwilling to let himself get too comfortable, he left the circle of Danse's arms and retrieved his discarded pants from the floor. Pulled them on and retied them, then looked up to see Danse hadn't moved. He still sat on the bed, arms now propped stiffly behind him and his face seriously deep in thought. Hancock watched him, waiting for the inevitable words that went with a look like that.

Danse stared off at the closed door on the far wall. "I can't," he stopped and cleared his throat. "I shouldn't let myself do this again."

It shouldn’t have been a surprise but he still found himself a little taken aback. "Alright, ‘s fine," Hancock said. Disappointing, sure, but Danse had no obligation to him; they weren’t fucking _dating_ or anything.

…

That called up an ugly thought. "You're not cheating on someone with me, are you?"

Danse frowned and looked up at him. "What? No. Nothing like that." He sighed and rose to his feet, looking like he wanted to reach up and pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Come walk with me for a minute, if you don’t mind. I need some air."

Hancock moved over to his closet and picked through it, wondering what the hell this was about. “A walk, huh,” he grinned a little. “As long as this ‘walk’ doesn’t end with my body being dumped in the woods, I’m all yours.”

Danse dragged a palm down his face as he crossed the room, muttering, “Be serious, would you? I just want to talk, for god’s sake.”

Hancock had been only mostly joking; Danse’s attitude when he’d come in had been confusing enough to make him just a little on edge for most of the visit. Enough to constantly expect some kind of physical lashing out. But at least the snippy response was reassuring. He pulled on his boots and followed Danse outside.

The night air was a relief to both of them. Relatively cool, breezy, and just a little damp. Danse turned toward the back of the shack and crunched off through the dead leaves, winding his way around the tall, pale-barked trees. Hancock matched his strides, picking his way through the woods at Danse's right. A half moon filtered light down through the sparse canopy of leaves overhead. Hancock laughed a little, again trying to lighten up the weird mood, "Well, this is romantic as hell, paladin. But you're supposed to seduce someone _before_ you fuck their brains out, not after."

Danse blew a sharp breath of air out of his nose but didn't have a response. Eh. It was better than nothing. They continued on, making their way down a few steep, eroded embankments to the edge of the large lake that stretched out to the north of the co-op. Danse slowed his pace to a meander, aimlessly walking back and forth along the rocky mud of the lakeside. Hancock stood back under a tree and watched him warily.

"Go on. Say what you’re gonna say, sweetheart," Hancock said. The environs were nice, but he was sick of the ridiculous tenseness from Danse. It was making his jaw and back ache from sympathetic muscle strain.

"I have to stop." Danse’s words were stilted and awkward like he really didn’t want to say them, but still had to get them out anyway. "I shouldn't be fraternizing at all, let alone with a... non-human.” His cheeks flushed slightly darker. “Particularly not to this extent. I would be suspended indefinitely or, more likely, cast out for such a severe lapse of judgement."

A _lapse of judgement_ . Shit. Hancock snorted, knowing already this wasn't going to be pretty and feeling a light lick of anger in his mind. He could’ve easily taken a simple rejection and moved on. What was the _point_ of this? "Oh, yeah, that’s right. _Sex with a ghoul._ You're pretty much ruined now," he said, sarcastically cheery.

"According to Elder Maxson, yes," Danse muttered.

Hancock’s eyes snapped up. _"Fuck_ your elder. What the fuck does he know?"

Danse was silent for a moment, gritting his teeth and turning away to frown at the ground. "He's our leader. I have a duty to him to uphold his rules and carry out his orders no matter what they are; all of my brothers and sisters do.” He paused, heaved a sigh, and spoke again, quieter and chewing the corner of his lip. “You asked if I was cheating on someone. It feels like I'm cheating on the brotherhood."

Hancock folded his arms across his chest and glared at the back currently turned to him, annoyed and mildly disgusted. He had to make an effort not to just childishly say ‘That’s fucking stupid.’ and leave it at that. All the way out here in the sticks, and Danse was still trying to follow their most nonsensical tenets while being miles away from anyone who gave a shit. “Trying” being the operative word there. It was a little late to say he’d done a good job at not fooling around with a ghoul. Twice.

"I'm not gonna say you're not, but so what? So fucking what?"

Damnit. He’d known right from the start that this was going to be a mess. Danse and his buddies had anything ranging from mild disgust to outright hatred when it came to ghouls and other mutants and Hancock had known it. It had been fine as long as it never actually came up. But why _wouldn’t_ it? What had he been _thinking_ …? Well, he’d been thinking with his dick and (ha ha) screw the consequences. And now here it was, awkward and ugly.

Danse was watching him, looking equally upset and temporarily at a loss for words. So Hancock continued, "I didn't wanna have this conversation for a few different reasons, but you obviously do, seeing as we’re all the way out here.” He swept a hand out at the empty lake. “So, fine. Listen.” The open hand turned into a pointing finger jabbed at Danse. “I know exactly what you brotherhood pricks think about ghouls. Seen it myself and I’ve heard the horror stories coming from up north. I know you aren’t real friendly with anyone that’s not in your little assholes-in-power-armor club but, oh man, it doesn’t even come close to the treatment ghouls get does it? You fuckheads kill any you come across, feral or not. Isn’t that right? ‘Put us out of our misery’? ‘Release us from our torment’?"

He realized he was falling into a rant, but couldn't stop. He didn’t like turning into one of those ghoul rights advocacy guys, but something was really pushing his buttons tonight. Danse looked even angrier, but there was something else in his eyes. Guilt, maybe. Hopefully. Some kind of reluctant realization.

"I could see what you thought of me when we were introduced fucking forever ago. You had that shitty look on your face and you wouldn’t stop trying to touch your gun every time I moved. Is that the kind of person you are? Do you really believe that kind of shit? You want to hate a bunch of people you’ve never met and don’t know? Hate me? For what? The fact that my skin looks like a Yao Guai chewed it up? Because all RadAway does to me is make me puke my guts out?"

Fuck. He was shouting. Shouting and probably looking a little feral himself with the way his shoulders were hunching up and his hands were tensing into claws at his sides. Good foresight on Danse’s part to come out here.

"I'm just a guy, same as you. Get it? We don’t need your disdain or your fucking mercy killings. I'm a _person;_ we’re _people._ We’re not humans, but we’re definitely not fucking _monsters,"_ Danse winced and closed his eyes at that. “And we’re not whatever the holy Elder Jerkoff decided a ghoul is. You don't have to keep thinking there's some massive rift between what I am and what you are for fuck's sake."

Danse stepped closer and Hancock tensed in preparation for a strike or a shove; something. He didn't expect Danse’s hands to softly fall to his arms and just hold him there. Hancock quieted and he stared up at Danse, eyes burning and blood thrumming through him. Why was Danse still waiting around here? For that matter, why was _he_ still waiting around here? Why was he letting a brotherhood soldier’s stupid, backwards views on ghouls bother him so much? Why was he leaning into Danse instead of tearing away and going the fuck home? God damnit, this was making his head hurt. He’d thought he was okay with just using Danse and being used in return, but then why did he care about getting this straight?

Why was he still trying?

“Are you always gonna do whatever they tell you to?” Hancock’s lips slid into an uncertain smile. “And look, I’m not saying this because you’re a really fun lay and I badly need to keep you around, cuz you _are,_ but fuck, man. Make your own fucking decisions. Go if you want; you don’t have to talk to me or even fuckin’ _look_ at me ever again, but do it cuz _you_ want to, not cuz someone else is pullin’ your strings.” He wanted to reach out and touch Danse, see if he was getting any of this, but his arms were still pinned to his sides. He shifted around in the unyielding grip instead and sighed, suddenly tired. “Say something, would you?”

The moment stretched out. Hancock could hear the wind shifting through the trees and the water, his own thudding heart, and the imaginary echoes of his own shouting.

“You’re right,” Danse mumbled.

Hancock looked up, startled. “...What?”

Danse took a deep heaving breath and closed his eyes. When they reopened his expression was subdued and he spoke, his voice a quiet rumble.

“I said... you’re right. John.”

Hearing his name coming from Danse stunned him into complete silence.

Danse continued, his hands relaxing and almost apologetically falling back to his sides. “Along with the brotherhood’s teachings and the Elder’s views, I... have my own reason for feeling this way. But I’m starting to see that it isn’t a very good one. It’s an emotional reaction to... something that happened a long time ago and I shouldn't let it keep affecting me like this.” Danse took another deep breath and tipped his head back. Hancock watched the cords of his neck tighten and shift as he swallowed against what might have possibly been the threat of tears. He was insanely curious about what the hell the ‘something’ had been to provoke that kind of reaction, but had the presence of mind to realize that this wasn’t the time to pry.

Danse released him and turned away, dropping to the ground and sitting on a grassy patch facing the water. His left hand laced through his hair as he tilted his head to watch Hancock out of the corner of his eye. “I owe the brotherhood a lot… everything, really. Hell, I’ve been a part of them for almost half my life. But you’re right. I can’t make an argument against anything you said.” His lips thinned and he looked away again. “That kind of hatred isn’t worthy of them. Or of me. You don’t deserve it either.”

Hancock joined him on the ground, not really sure what he was feeling. Some kind of drawn-out bewilderment; waiting for an unfunny punchline or the inevitable ‘gotcha!’. Danse turned to fully look at him; his voice was strained and somber. "So I need to apologize to you. I’ve been unnecessarily antagonistic; I've said and done plenty of things I wish I could take back." His eyes cut away. “I’m not saying I can change this all at once; it’s a lot. But I’m going to make the effort.”

Danse’s hand slid from his hair to the back of his neck. His voice was quiet but firm when he spoke. “I’m sorry.”

Hancock felt an insane desire to laugh at how damn _serious_ this had all gotten and how titanic of a reversal this was. Self-preservation somehow triumphed over the nervous urge and he resigned himself to just staring wide-eyed at the side of Danse’s face in disbelief. That was something he had _never_ expected to hear from a brotherhood soldier, nevermind Danse, and it was actually sort of ...sweet of him if he actually meant it.

Well, shit. It was good to be proven wrong about how much of a complete asshole Danse was, but it still sort of irked him that he couldn’t feel that pure, uncomplicated dislike for him anymore. Frustrating to get his nice, orderly thoughts and opinions all mixed around. At least the paladin was still _mostly_ an uptight, snotty asshole. Just maybe not quite so hate-able anymore.

He stuck out his legs, digging the heels of his boots into the soft lake mud and breathed out a low, disbelieving breath. This whole entire thing had been such a stupid idea; and brought on by what? One inebriated stumble and a few heated words. But he was caught in it. And really, what was life without weird shit like this? Fuck it.

Hancock steepled his fingers under his chin and leaned forward, frowning thoughtfully at the water. “I’m only gonna accept that apology if you get drunk with me,” he said.

Some of the tenseness ran out of Danse’s body; his shoulders slumped a little and he laughed quietly in surprise, the sound blending in with the water lapping at the nearby shore.

“And not just one beer and ‘Oh, look at the time,’ I mean dr _-unk,"_ Hancock continued.

"If that’s what it takes I could likely set some time aside for that."

"Well then...” he paused and smiled, “... _Danse,_ I think we're square." He leaned back up and stuck his hand over, and Danse awkwardly shook it in the small space. Even after all else, that brief touch stuck out as feeling deeply personal, nearly intimate. They separated again, each thinking of the warm pressure from the other’s hand as they sat; staying until the sky started to lighten with the first blush of sunrise and then heading home to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hancock lays the smack down on Danse, but in a good way. He likes it.

"Paladin Danse."

The words called his march to a stop, imperative but quiet enough to carry only to his ears. The raspy tenor of the voice put just a hint of sneer on his title. If the voice itself didn't give away who was calling to him from the splintered wooden porch, that derisive tone certainly did. 

He turned his head, gazing into the shadowed overhang of the familiar house. The glowing cherry of a lit cigarette floated there above the steps, rising up and illuminating the holder's face in tones of orange as he took a short drag. Danse paused and stood where he was in the dooryard, watching the smoke get tugged away by the wind. Christ, being near the ghoul always put him on edge. The way he spoke and moved and always got just a little too close for comfort set his nerves sparking. Made him revert to that primal need to either flee or wrap his hands around the throat of the threat. But he had chosen to walk this way, hadn't he? Had maybe wanted that cocky voice to call out to him. It came again, even quieter than the greeting. "Can't sleep?"

A small smile lifted the corner of Danse's mouth as he spoke back into the resounding deadness of the damp night air, "It's tough to force myself into bed some nights."

A knowing laugh was the response, and the glowing ember bobbed forward and back as Hancock gestured him over. He didn't say anything, but there was a mirthful smile on his face as he crushed the last of his smoke out on the bottom of his boot. Danse edged down onto the rickety stairs, picking the second riser below Hancock to sit on and propping his elbows behind him. Forcing himself to appear at ease despite the tension rising through him. A few muted lights shone out around the settlement, but where they were sitting was now plunged into an almost solid darkness. With his cigarette out, Hancock was just a vague suggestion of shape beside him; Danse could hear his slow pulls of breath far more clearly than he could see him.

"Didn't think you were out and about this late." Hancock's voice was just a bare tick above a whisper but sounded loud and harsh in the still air.

Danse turned and leaned his back against the rail behind him, settling his eyes on what would have been the ghoul's face if he could see anything more than black on grey shadows. Excitement, just short of turning into fear was haunting him; a dense feeling of suffocation as he breathed in and released. He let it prickle his skin and crush into his chest as he spoke. "Yeah," he agreed, then finding himself unwilling to continue. That gnaw of uncertainty didn't want him to say anything aloud. Didn't want to admit why his patrol had taken him past this particular house at this particular time of night. His gaze shifted over to the screen door behind them and then returned. "Nothing pressing tomorrow.”

Hancock had followed where his eyes went, he saw it from the gentle tilt of his head. But he said nothing for a few moments, letting the air squeeze and compress Danse a little more as he waited, feeling the thin wooden slats bite into his thighs and his thoughts bite into his mind. Finally Hancock's voice came again, sounding, if possible, even more relaxed and sure of himself than usual. Bastard. "So, what's the story, morning glory? It looks like you've got somethin' extra serious on your mind." He bent a leg out behind Danse, laying an arm across the knee and insinuating himself further into Danse's space. "I think I'm up for a tough philosophical quandary if you've got one. Or did you swing by for something else?"

Danse's words failed him again, a wave of frustration burning his ears and cheeks. He knew exactly why he'd wandered by here, remembering the way Hancock had manhandled him and hissed filth into his face that first night their tensions had spilled over into a physical fight. He wanted to speak but couldn't form anything remotely presentable. This was a little more complex than 'Hey Hancock, let's bang', which he would never have said either. Danse found himself envying Hancock's complete ease of just saying the most ridiculous nonsense he could think of. He opened his mouth and then shut it again with an impatient noise.

" _ Danse _ ," Hancock snapped out.

His eyes flicked up to Hancock's face and then away, his breathing suddenly harder. He could feel the scrutinizing gaze from the ghoul, even if he couldn't see it. Danse swallowed. The harsh crack of his voice and the implied command had had a... striking effect on him. He felt his stomach lurch a little and a spread of warmth over his skin.

Hancock's voice came again, now gentle and soothing. Suspiciously so. "C'mon, I know you're not here to talk, so why don't you tell me?" Hancock leaned in close, teeth and eyes catching the smallest glints of light from one of the far away lamps. A thin hand reached out and rough knuckles brushed over his chin and the side of his jaw before the fingers uncoiled and dug firmly into his cheek. A hot shiver wormed down Danse's back and he bit back a moan. "Don't wanna say it? Too shy?"

Danse licked his lips, feeling too warm and completely unable to produce any kind of sound. That fearful breathlessness had crept up again, and Hancock just kept making it worse.  _ Bastard. _ The ghoul shook him gently, twisting his head side to side as he spoke again, smoky breath intimately rolling over him and eyes staring all the way through him. "You're too easy to read, man. I hope you're not a card player." He wasn't. Danse swallowed and knew his breathing and even his pupils were further betraying him.

Hancock giggled, still close enough to kiss him but just lurking there instead, right in his face. "Need me to be the brave one for you? Want me to say it? The big, bad brotherhood paladin wants a skinny, druggie ghoul to boss him around a bit," he said, slow and grinning. "Yeah?"

The heat in his body was enormous. Why was it like this? No one else scared him like Hancock. Got under his skin like this. A rush of embarrassment flowed through him as he closed his eyes in agreement and quietly said "Yes."

The thin fingers relaxed and drew down his face and over his throat as he barked a short laugh into Danse's face. "You're pretty fuckin' twisted, Danny. I love it."

His head swam, maybe with relief or maybe with lust, as Hancock clasped his hand and pulled him to his feet with a grunt. And then a soft nudge against his chest and arm as he was turned and guided into the warm stillness of Hancock's room. 

It was even darker than the porch when the door clicked shut and the deadbolt turned. He'd been in here once before and knew the general layout, but the total blackness pressed in around him and made him feel lost, unnerved. And he knew Hancock could see every little twitch and movement he was making in the darkness. "Are you going to turn on a light?" he asked, lips dry again and addressing the blank void in front of him.

Hancock's chuckle sounded behind him and to the left, sounding both ominous and overly cheery. A finger trailed over the back of his neck and Danse flinched away before he could catch himself. His eyes were wide and straining into the nothing. Hancock spoke, now directly in front of him. "No," he said. "No, I think I want you like this for now. At my mercy." The ghoul's raspy growl got him going any time he heard it, and now was no different. Maybe even more intensely due to the loss of sight and how hard his ears were straining to pick up the slack. It didn't help that the majority of the things out of his mouth were so suggestive or just plain dirty.

Danse could hear Hancock shrug out of his overcoat and toss it aside. He was hovering somewhere between madly impatient for something to happen and complete terror.

"So," Hancock began. Danse's scalp prickled with anticipation as he stood waiting. "I'm pretty fuckin' excited. Let's get this shit going. Get down on your knees, paladin."

He did, dropping to one knee then tucking the other leg under him as well. Ankles folded behind him and he rolled his shoulders into a comfortable upright position that curved his chest out. Hancock hadn't touched him yet, but he could sense him standing right behind his back with his legs on either side of his own.

"That's a good boy," Hancock murmured. His hands lightly touched the sides of Danse's neck, startling him again, then quickly moved to thread into his hair. His fingers petted across then sank in and carded through the short strands, scratching lightly over his skin and sending shivers down his neck to sink into the pit of his stomach. He sort of liked the fixation Hancock had on his hair, taking any opportunity to touch it or stick his face in it. He took care to keep it cut and washed and both the appreciation and sensation were nice. Not to mention the faint suggestion of possessiveness he got from it. The hands pulled tight after the short exploration and Danse was held still in the darkness, gasping at the sharp feeling.

"And now... you're going to suck my cock." Conversational, casual tone. Which then dropped to almost menacing. "You have a problem with that?"

Another chill raced through him, zipping through his stomach and down to his groin. Not so long ago he would have had an enormous problem with it. Even now, the carefully-practiced brotherhood tenets hammered in the background of his thoughts. But his body and the  _ now _ part of him screamed out for it, drowning out everything else.  _ Touch him, please him, do whatever he says.  _

_ Submit. _

"No, sir," he whispered to his hands, cheeks heating slightly.

Hancock made a pleased rumble in response. He pulled further back on Danse's hair, lifting his head and exposing his throat to the room before responding. "That's what I like to hear."

Hancock stepped around to Danse's front, the warm body blocking the light flow of air through the room. A hand drew down his face, the textured palm caressing and then curling around to the nape of Danse's neck. His nose was pressed up against the soft, pliable leather covering Hancock's hip, and then dragged to the side over the hard tent of the bulge there. Reaching out and setting his hands against the hot thighs for balance, he let Hancock slowly grind against his nose and lips, tentatively opening his mouth to lick and softly bite at the leather-covered arousal. There was a husky moan of "Oh, fuck yeah..." as Hancock breathed deeply and paused his movements to watch the pink tongue slicking up the front of his pants with saliva. Danse hazarded a slow glance up through his eyelashes, not that he could see anything, and it had the desired effect. A louder rush of breath before Hancock's hands fell away and started rapidly untying and unbuckling his garments.

He'd touched Hancock before, felt the valleyed expanse of his stomach and legs, ran his fingers over his face and neck, even stroked him to a very vocal completion. But this would be new ground. Maybe he was ready for it, maybe not. But he needed it. Needed this closeness and needed to test this uneasy trust they'd built up.

"Open your mouth, Danse."

He did, a little ashamed but eager to obey. His lips parted and let his jaw hang open, laying his tongue out to cover his bottom teeth.

"Wish you could see how good you look right now," Hancock said, lightly touching the side of his jaw, and then he was sliding in over Danse's tongue.

Danse reached out, grasping at the waist of Hancock's lowered pants, twisting his hands into them for some kind of control or grounding as he closed his lips around the strangely-textured head and sucked him in. He knew he was inexperienced, but tried to make up for it with the need and desire he felt. Softly stroking with one hand as he slid his tongue up and down the long shaft. Pressing deeper, as deep as he could, lips and nose crushed up against Hancock's body and firmly sealing off his throat for a few seconds. Feeling himself get harder and harder at each insistent pull and nudge to his hair and head. At each low, shuddering inhale and the alternating words of praise and grunted curses. At the burning and aching in his jaw and body.

He went on until Hancock grabbed him and held his head still, though still making short, jittery thrusts into his mouth. Hancock asked, seemingly to himself, "Where should this go, huh? Suck it down and swallow it? Or... mmm. Maybe all over that beautiful face."

_ Beautiful?  _ Danse thought, somewhat stunned as the question was silently answered. Hancock released him and pulled away, sliding his hand down over himself and the slick layer of spit left there.

Hancock's voice was rough and breathy, and Danse could hear the fevered slippery motion of his hand so close to his face. "Look up at me and close your eyes, sweetheart." He did, keeping his eyes open for just a moment as he licked his wet lips before obeying. He heard the low, animal growl as his tongue ran over his skin and it was only a few more seconds before he felt the hot jets of come strike his face and slowly start to drip. He couldn't help the moan that came from him as he felt each spurt hitting his cheeks and nose, loving the feeling of debasement and being used.

Hancock sank to his knees in front of Danse, breaths still coming out heavy and harsh. A hand touched his face, finger trailing through one of the splashes of come. "Look at what a mess you are," he whispered, face so close to Danse's. So close he could... Danse's eyes shot open as he felt Hancock's tongue slipping up his cheek, carefully licking through the cooling trails on his face and thumbs moving to swipe away the rest. Stunned, Danse moaned against Hancock's shoulder, feeling a tight shiver each place Hancock's tongue touched him. Hancock laughed then, swallowing and wiping his hands off. "You like that?"

He did. It was bizarre; really every single thing he did with this capricious demon, no matter how degenerate or out of his comfort zone, he managed to enjoy. Danse breathed hard, still pressed up against the ghoul's body and his head in the crux of his neck and whispered, "Yeah." It was how wild Hancock was. Short, slender, but filled with this unpredictable ferocity that was magnetic. Even before, it was something he'd noticed and been unwillingly drawn to. He lay his hand on the front of Hancock's shirt, feeling the hard, but steady pulsing of his heart under the thin fabric and tough plane of wiry muscle. Just to check and make sure he was real and not some apparition set here purely to torture and fulfill.

Hancock's hand slid over his shoulder, and then down his back. It came to him that they were both still fully dressed, and Danse couldn't figure out if it made him feel more comfortable or less. "Let's turn on that light now, huh? I wanna see you a little better for this. I've got one more in me, and then it's your turn, cutie pie." Then Hancock leaned back and caught Danse's jaw in his hand again, thumb resting on his lower lip. His breath still had the faintest trace of tobacco smoke on it. "Don't come until I say, you got it? Be good and it'll be real nice when you do." He didn't bother mentioning what would happen if he wasn't good.

"I got it."

"Mm." Hancock released his hold and stood, walking away. Then the snap of a light switch and the relatively blinding glow of his desk lamp filled the room. It was a low wattage light, dusky gold and pointed into the corner, but after the absolute blackness of the room it might as well have been as bright as the sun. Both of them squinting, Hancock turned around and looked over at Danse, leaning against the wall with his thumbs hooked into his waistband. It was the first time Danse had really seen him that night.

He looked the way he always did; at ease, but still watchful and ready for anything. His pants had been haphazardly jerked back up and refastened over the angular hips, shirtsleeves rolled up over his elbows, and shirt itself hanging half open and showing the jut of his collarbones and top of his chest. Hancock smiled at him. It wasn't the placating politician's smile he'd seen on him before, directed at the caravaners or at an upset blackjack opponent. It was hard and devious and full of teeth. "Get up and come stand in front of me."

Danse stood, a little wobbly and knees protesting, and crossed the room to stop a couple feet from where Hancock was leaning. He'd been partly to fully hard this whole time; each little thing Hancock did or said or had him do contributing to what was by now kind of a sticky, chafing mess. But he felt like he'd hit his groove and could keep this up for a while. Could take it. He just wanted more, to feed his traitorous body and hungry mind.

"Strip and then get your ass in my bed on all fours."

The clothes came off. A little faster than he intended, going far too quickly to qualify as a tease, but he wanted whatever Hancock was going to give him too much. Too impatient for it. But he got a dark-eyed nod of approval and went to kneel on the soft bed, the mattress far more forgiving on his knees than the wooden floor. After a moment of hesitation he eased forward to drop onto his hands as well.

"Turn and face this way."

Danse shuffled around, bringing his feet up after him and watched Hancock push away from the wall and move to disappear behind him. His breath caught as the bed sank in behind him, warmth suffusing his face at the feeling of complete exposure. He battled the urge to lower his hips and twist his legs back together and won out.

"I like how obedient you're being." A hand settled over the small of his back, warm and firm, then curving over the swell of one asscheek and coming to rest right beneath it. Hancock's fingers pinched lightly at the skin as he chuckled to himself, "How should I reward you, huh? Maybe a spanking?"

A hard twinge ran down Danse's spine and he answered quickly. Perhaps too eager, but to hell with his pride. It had long since slunk away, at least for tonight. "Yes. Please."

Hancock laughed again, left hand settling on Danse's hip and the right lifting away. "And so polite too..." It came back gently, with just enough force to make his flesh jiggle. A thoughtful stroke over the point of impact. Then another hit. Just a hint of a sting in that one. Danse bit his lip, anxious. Fearing the harder strikes but craving them even more. The hand came down again in a proper slap. The sound was a flat crack in the room that drove a low  _ mmmph _ from him. They got harder and faster, alternating sides as Danse gasped and jerked against the hand anchoring his hip still. He could feel his skin burning and well on its way to being sore when the smacks started tapering off, trading off for soft rubs from Hancock's ridged hands. He drew in a last hitching breath against the stinging of his skin, hearing Hancock quietly ask, "How's that?"

"Outstanding," he breathed. His back was oily with sweat, his legs were twitching, and he knew his ass was a glowing, shiny pink in the aftermath of that onslaught. The pain was good. Something familiar but exciting. He felt his dick twitching in the open air, the tip slick and cool and his balls tight and aching. But he could take it, do what Hancock said. Let him deprive him for now.

The hands were still on him, one on each tingling asscheek. The fingers tightened and released, then Hancock's mouth replaced them, kissing and sucking and then the sharp pinch of teeth making Danse cry out. His skin felt extremely sensitive, and the bites were so close to being way too much. "Nngh! Please," he panted.

Another nip and then a thumb smoothed over it. "Whaddaya need, Danny?" His voice was still quiet and even, perfectly in control. The timbre still exceedingly pleasant to his ears.

"I need... aagh!  _ Fuck! _ " A particularly vicious bite forced his words into an embarrassingly high pitch. He could feel the stretch of a grin against the wounded skin there. "Gentle, please."

"Gentle, huh. Normally I'd say no, but you asked me so nice." He spread Danse's ass further apart and ghosted a hot breath there. "I can do gentle for a few minutes." And then his tongue was on him, licking a slow line from his balls to his hole, impossibly soft and wet. Teased against it, pursed his lips and sucked, then just laid his tongue flat and slowly rubbed up and down. Danse squirmed and shifted back against the slippery mouth. It felt so odd but so damned good; he could feel himself tensing and loosening in response to each swipe. And then the tongue stiffened and forced its way into him, past the tight ring of muscle to lap and wiggle there before drawing out and plunging back in. Danse couldn't help all the embarrassing noises he was making and clawed into the sheets as he moaned and whined. Thin fingers joined Hancock's tongue in delving in and working him open and he nearly screamed when a fingertip brushed his prostate.

" _ Damnit _ , please please," he begged. "That's not fair."

Hancock growled in between the wet slides of his tongue, "Suck it up, paladin. Put some of that vaunted military training to use for once, huh." He moved back, fumbled for a moment, and then slapped his cock into the cleft of Danse's ass, dragging and sliding on all the spit left there. "You can hold it," he grunted, repositioning and slipping in, with barely any resistance. Danse exhaled loudly and told himself he wasn't going to rip Hancock's sheets in two. "Hold it."

Hancock fucked him hard and vicious, pulling out a little and then slamming his hips up into the backs of his thighs. Fingers clawed into his shoulders and twisted him upright, back arched until his head was lying against Hancock's shoulder. Hand wrapped around his throat, touching the two pulse points there and he was laughing into Danse's ear and biting into the muscle of his neck. "You're so good, " he whispered as he jerked up into him. "Mmm, just like that." Harder and deeper, breath catching and then spilling inside him. A few last slow pumps and Hancock withdrew but didn't move away. He just held Danse there, still laughing quietly, one sweaty hand on his neck and the other gripping his ass, pulling it apart and watching his come gradually spill out of Danse's ass and trickle down his balls and the inside of his thigh. It was a thoroughly bizarre sensation. "Now. I bet you're just  _ aching _ , aren't you?" Hancock asked behind him. He couldn’t tell if the put-on sympathy was going to lead to relief or more teasing.

Danse nodded silently, letting Hancock push him down and roll him over into his bed. His hands clutched stupidly at his own shoulders, wanting more than anything to curl one around his dick and squeeze and shove into it. Inelegant maybe, but at least it would rid him of this godforsaken tidal wave of pressure he was feeling. Hancock settled over him, inky eyes and thin lips smiling at the bloodless white marks Danse was digging into his arms. "Well, let's get you taken care of then," he said, voice low and smooth and sending a shiver through him.

A pathetic whimper fell out of Danse as Hancock knelt and drew him into his mouth. The long licks and gentle suction were plenty to send him over, but Hancock ran his fingers through the slick mess on his legs and slid back into him, soft and insistent and touching off the release he'd been dying for. His eyes rolled shut, hands like a vise on the mattress below, and long, desperate breaths tearing in and out of his mouth as his hips rose up and he shot into Hancock's mouth. "Oh fuck, John," he moaned, feeling like he was crossing some unsaid boundary, but also feeling right in some way. Hancock swallowed against him, the sudden tightness making him nearly shriek. The last waves hit and rolled over him, making his body shudder and clench and finally relax. Melting into the pillow and cotton blankets. Laying under Hancock in the yellow light of the lamp and his body feeling at goddamn peace for once.

Hancock cleaned them up and Danse just lay there, accepting whatever he was doing. Keeping the thoughts crowding into his head at bay, and just laying quietly, still naked and sprawled out. He watched Hancock unlace his boots and scoot them under the bed, reach over to his jacket pocket and dig til he came back up with another cigarette. Lighting it and tucking it into the corner of his mouth as he leaned back against the wall. He got through half and plucked it out, offered it to Danse who shook his head... but then took it anyway, one drag and handing it back.

Then that sexy rasp again, interrupting his nothing-thoughts. "Gonna stay the night?" Danse's breath caught, but Hancock looked over at him completely unperturbed. "Think this thing can fit us both," he said, finishing his smoke and smushing it against the bedpost. "I'm fine either way, but pick one. I'm bushed."

Did he want to? Yes. Was he terrified of the implications this brought to his mind? Also yes. He didn't want... whatever this was that they had to get complicated. Didn't want the worry. Hoped Hancock wasn't looking for anything more from him, because he didn't know if he had anything else to give at this point. But Hancock had never asked; never pushed Danse for anything beyond the… physical things they got up to and some common respect. And never asked for an explanation. For that he was silently grateful. But this still unsettled him. 

Danse rolled over to one side of the bed and stared at the wall. "This is a mistake," he said, quiet enough that it might have been to himself.

Hancock looked at him for a moment, dark eyes trailing over the concerned tilt of Danse's eyebrows and the strain in his jaw. He crawled up and leaned over the bed's railing to snap off the light, plunging them back into complete black. Tossed a blanket over the two of them as he settled in and got comfortable against the other body sharing his space. 

"Everything's a mistake in some way, Danse. Nothin's perfect." He yawned. “Go the hell to sleep.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Danse gets kicked out of the club and Hancock has to go beat his ass and tell him he's pretty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh crap, now with actual story? Take a quick break from all the dicks, it's good for you. _Just_ a quick break tho, let's not go overboard here. There's still dicks.

There was shouting nearby. Something urgent… He was asleep, but still had that dreamy, disoriented presence of mind to realize it as he drifted back up, yanked by whoever was making such a damn racket. Familiar, whoever it was.

"Hancock!"

His eyes snapped wide open on the sky and immediately winced back closed against the brightness.  _ Fucking what. _ He rolled over on the hot roof and automatically dragged a hand over his hip, feeling for his knife as he came up on his hands and knees. His groggy mind finally sorted out what he was hearing and where it was coming from. It was Shaina below him, coming closer and calling for him with fear in her voice. Not the usual, pleasant, isn't-this-a-lovely-time-we're-having voice; she sounded almost desperate. 

He'd fallen asleep a few...  _ oooh _ ... yeah, a few hours ago, lost in his thoughts and his jet, and now his head was thumping with the sudden adrenaline and an overdose of sun. He scrambled over to the edge and peered down, spotting the vaultie-turned-brotherhood-knight about to try to storm up his porch steps still wearing her power armor suit.

"Hey, where's the fire, baby doll?" he called, easy words covering up the alarm that was sneaking up on him.

She reversed and stopped under his perch, face turning up to meet his. The normally placid eyes were wild and her hair was matted down with sweat and some kind of mystery sludge. Skin streaked with dirt and days-old blood. "It's Danse."

Hancock's heart thudded. Hard.  _ Hurt? Dying? _ Then fast on the heels of that, defensive,  _ why come tell  _ me _? _

In a flash his mind framed up the last time he’d seen the paladin and the knight. Three weeks or so past they'd both left the settlement together. Both in their brotherhood-issue power armor, a tiny contingent of yet more tin cans a little ways behind them, waiting to escort the two of them wherever they were off to. For days prior the two had been antsy and overflowing with nerves, jumping when spoken to and words always curt if not outright sharp. He'd later found out from Preston, ever abreast of the goings on, that it had been a full expedition to the southern Glowing Sea and finally understood the shaky air of trepidation surrounding the whole thing.

He'd been reading outside when the entire clanking group of them finally set off, Shaina waving back regally and Danse quickly looking his way and tapping the barrel of his rifle against his helmet in a covert salute. Hancock had shot enthusiastic finger-guns and a wink back at them and watched until their backs slowly vanished over the hill. No contact in all that time, but given how far they were traveling, not too concerning.

But now she was back here alone and looking thoroughly beat up; her partner conspicuously absent.

"What? Shay, what the hell is it?"

"He's... well. Shoot." The little composure she had was cracking. The loss of control there scared him and he was quickly up and dropping down to the ground to stand with her. "I suppose this is going to come out eventually." He had no idea what that meant. She rested her hands on his slim shoulders and lowered her voice to speak only to him. "He's found out he's a synth."

"A synth. Danse." The words made no sense as he said them.

"Yeah, I was there when the call came in. Straight from the Institute's databanks, there's no mistake.” She let go of him and looked like she immediately regretted it, her hands nervously clasping on nothing. “We had to fight our way out through Reeve and… damnit, and the other knights there. And then he ran off and he’s holed himself up in an old monitoring bunker and doesn't want to talk to me or see anyone." She paused to gulp in a breath and steady herself. "He's... Hancock, he's so damn lost. I wanted to help him but I think I was just making it worse." Frustrated tears were threatening her eyes but she was keeping them in. "Would you... please, as fast as you can, please go talk to him. I don't know what he's going to do and I'm scared for him."

Hancock's mind reeled as the sun beat down on the two of them. Sweat was creeping down his back but it wasn't from the heat. Her words echoed in his head and two phrases kept coming back stronger,  _ ‘He's a synth’ _ and ‘ _ I don't know what he's going to do’ _ . Something added up there. She hadn't come out and said the words, but maybe she didn't need to. He was suddenly close to panic.  _ But me? Why? _ "Wouldn't Nicky be better at explaining this shit to him? Curie? Even Deac? They know almost exactly what--"

But she shook her head, eyes squinted shut and mouth curled down in a pained frown. "Maybe when he's thinking right that'll do him good, but right now I think Deacon or a synth are probably the last people he wants to see." Her eyes had a pleading cast to them and her voice was falling into that serious, probing drive it got when she really wanted something and wasn't going to take a no for it. 

"I know you two have...  _ something _ going on." She raised a hand to curb any protests before they started and Hancock relented, closing his mouth and letting her continue. He knew. He knew they did. It was so hard for him to keep his fucking feelings out of it, but yeah, there it was. They had something. 

"I don't know what it is, but I saw the way you used to act around each other. Then the avoidance, and then the, maybe not  _ friendliness  _ exactly, but like you understand each other. Like he knows you.  _ Danse doesn't do that. _ With anyone. He's only just starting to get used to  _ me. _ " That last had looked painful to admit, but she'd gone ahead and said it, maybe thinking it important. He supposed it was. "I can't help him; he doesn't want help from me. I think it's you or it's no one." Her next words were dull and hollow. "He's lost everything. Elder Maxson knows." 

His eyes closed. Fucking fuck. This wasn't the way this was supposed to be. He wanted to go on pretending to hate Danse, reveling in the loathing and secretly enjoying that ugly weakness they had for each other. But would he chase him down and try to hammer some sense into him if that was what he needed? His fists curled tight against his legs. 

Fuck yeah, without question. 

"Where is he?"

\---

Listening Post Bravo. A squat, concrete structure wedged into a short valley comprised mostly of jagged, grey rock faces. Hancock cast a wary eye up at the smoking and spitting remains of two turret embankments on the roof of the bunker. The absolute silence filling the area was giving him some serious creeps and he couldn't quell the urge to keep making furtive glances behind him. Some mentats might have helped the incessant yammer of paranoia but he'd sadly left in too much of a damn hurry to think about bringing anything like that. 

As he looked at the metal door set into the stone wall of the listening post, he felt anxiety of another kind, mixing in with the simpler fear of a physical threat. What would he find in there? What the hell had Danse done or said to move his partner to near tears like that back at the co-op? And then a final unbidden thought, quiet and sinister: the hope that he hadn’t come too late.

Trying to push that aside, he passed through the open door and through a small, ransacked entry room, tapping in the access code he'd been given into the elevator console with a grumble. He hated trusting his life to these two-hundred year old mechanical coffins. But it clicked to full power with a buzzing jolt, spilling faint light out onto the floor and he was on his way underground.

The smell of wetness and powdery stone met him as the doors slid open on a brightly-lit section of room. Stacks of wooden crates lined the wall in front of him and blocked most of the view of what looked like a low-ceilinged stone box filled with dirty drifts of electronic trash and big banks of ancient computers. He stepped out and around into the darker center of the room, the light behind him casting a tall, spindly shadow ahead.

A lance of burning red energy sailed by his head, momentarily fouling his vision and then sizzling into the wall behind him as he froze absolutely still. The smell of ozone and burnt concrete wafted up past him.

Danse's voice came from a separate room past a smashed-out window in the far wall. It sounded hoarse and like it had been over-strained recently. Hancock could see him crouched behind the window, face and shoulders partly visible and the bore of his laser rifle trained outwards to where Hancock was standing. "That was a warning shot, the next one won’t miss. Who the hell is that and what do you want?"

The thrill of happiness at seeing Danse,  _ alive _ , his mind whispered, was only a little dampened by the laser blast and the brusque greeting. "For Christ's sake, it's Hancock! Chill out, okay?" He moved into a lit section of the room.

The rifle faltered and then dropped back. Danse stood and just looked at him, not moving. His armor was nowhere to be seen; the charred and ripped remains of his jumpsuit hung on him and he looked to be in about as good of shape as Shaina had been. Hair stuck up in crazy spikes, gore and traces of dirt on his skin, only partially cleaned away, cheeks hollower than they should be, and a wild, faraway look in his eyes. And god, his hands. The knuckles looked oddly flat and the skin looked like it’d been scraped away, healed, and then scraped away again.

"What are  _ you _ doing here?" The voice was petulant, moody, and it sent a worried chill over Hancock's back. He'd never heard that tone coming from Danse.

"Man, I don't fuckin' know, does it look like I had a plan for this?" Hancock spread his empty hands to his sides and took a cautious step forward, not quite so sure of himself anymore. The movement was partly shrug and partly to show he was unarmed, though why he felt the need to show Danse he wasn't dangerous, he wasn't sure. Maybe because of the way the big rifle was still cradled tensely in his hands. Danse knew he was here to help, right? "Shaina said you were in trouble so I'm here, that's all. Hello to you too, by the way." Another step toward the window.

"Your concern is appreciated but I don't need your help. I already told her I would stay here until I decide to move on. You should go." 

Mechanical. Military. Detached. It ground on him, the utter disconnect between them something of a shock. Danse sounded a lot like he had the very first day they’d been introduced. The awkward, hostile meeting being nervously mediated by Shaina with a big, fake smile on her face.

“‘Move on’? You were just gonna ghost us?”

He was met with silence.

"...You won't talk to me?"

An annoyed breath was Danse’s response.

Something was definitely wrong. He pushed through his misgivings and tried again.

"Look, Curie and Preston made me bring this stupid lunch for you, can you at least take it?"

Still nothing.

"I mean, I also brought an ass-kicking from RJ and myself for scaring everyone, but I thought I'd offer to feed you first before I embarrass you. You're lookin' a little haggard." He waited. Not funny? He took another step.

Danse finally showed his displeasure at how close Hancock was getting and brought his rifle back up to bear, eyebrows furrowing over dark eyes and lips lifting in a silent snarl. "I don't need your meddling. Get out."

Hancock stopped and the tentative smile on his face fell away. Anger washed through him, feeling not unlike a wave of boiling acid as he looked into the emitter on the rifle and then back up at Danse's face. "Don't you point that goddamn gun at me." Outrage was clear in his voice, quiet and deadly. It was one thing to fire at an unknown intruder, this was something else entirely.

And the finger was twitching tighter on the trigger. He was actually about to fucking do it. Hancock spun away, feet grinding against the floor and ducked behind a thick pipe jutting from the ceiling. He winced as he heard the blast of the rifle go off. Blood pounding in his ears, he sprinted around the room, keeping out of Danse's line of sight and then vaulted through the broken window at a difficult sideways angle, kicking out as Danse turned toward him again. The rifle shrieked out one more blinding beam of light into the ceiling before Hancock slammed it out of Danse's grip and sent it clattering to the floor. Hearts hammering, they grappled and wrenched against each other, and eventually ended up with Hancock pressed up against the back wall and one of Danse's hands dug deep into the lapels of his coat.

Why the hell was he acting like this? Hancock's breath spilled out hot and heavy and he glared up at Danse, feeling the other thick arm pressing against his neck and shoulder. "I'm not leaving here without you, Danse. Now how 'bout you wake up and get outta my face before I do something we both regret, huh?"

Pain was warring with the sullen anger in Danse's eyes. "You're gonna have to," he grunted, and then spit in Hancock's face.

He broke apart, mind dissolving into nothing but sheeting flares of mindless rage. He was dimly aware of screaming ‘ _ You fucking bitch! _ ’ before shoving back as hard as he could and chasing after the stumbling Danse with his fists flying at anything they could reach. They crashed around the tiny room trading blows, though it quickly became apparent Hancock was getting the extreme upper hand. Knuckles cracked against jaw and cheek and nose, feet tensed and propelled and shifted back. As his fists got bloodier and Danse got less and less responsive, either unwilling or unable to fight back, his clarity slowly came back. He got an idea what Danse was trying to do and he angrily ceased the attack. After another scramble, Hancock looped his foot around the back of Danse's ankle and gave him one last big shove that sent him to the ground. He just lay there, surrendered; nose and mouth coated in red, eyes closed, and chest heaving.

Hancock stumbled back against the desk in the room and frowned down at the man sprawled out in front of him as he sucked harsh breaths of air in through his mouth. "Why are you shutting me out, you prick? Why'd you send Shaina away? Why are you trying to chase  _ me _ away?" He waited, voice quieting down from the shouts to a low tone. "You’d better answer me cuz I ain’t leaving."

Minutes ticked by. Hancock was fully prepared to wait right there until Danse either said something or tried to get up so he could crush him back down again. After a time, it looked like something finally broke. The sticky lips parted and took a breath. "Why do you even care?" The words sounded like they were being spoken by an actual person again instead of the alien coldness he'd been getting before. A dark eye slit open and looked up at him. Still full of pain, but now just exhausted.

"Oh, fuck  _ you _ . You're a selfish jerk but you're one of us, you idiot. How have you not realized that? You’re not  _ that _ fuckin’ dense.” Hancock dragged his hands over his pants, wiping away some of the blood but most of it sticking in the dips of his skin. He dropped them down to his sides again and stared hard down at Danse. "We were all really goddamn worried about you. Shay nearly had to tie down Curie and Nick to keep them from following after me. Nicky was cursing up a storm and Curie started in with her ‘ _ Monsieur ‘ancock, let me go with you, s’il vous plaît _ .’"

Danse looked stunned and fell into another silence. 

“Yeah! Surprise. People care about you. You could probably see that if you got your head out of your ass every once in a while.”

Sighing, Hancock got up and moved next to him, flopping down to sit cross-legged by his hip. He stretched out a hand and placed it on Danse's chest, feeling the flinch and the speed of his heartbeats. This was going swimmingly. He'd been shot at, spit on, had cursed out Danse and then given him a bloody nose like a waterfall. In the running for the Negotiator of the Year award for sure.

Danse lifted a hand and gingerly rested it atop Hancock's. His eyes closed and his body seemed to deflate with relief when he wasn’t rebuffed, sinking back into the floor. "How can you stand to touch me?" 

Hancock smiled, partially in annoyance at how blockheaded Danse was and partially at the warm, dry hand covering his own. "Look, we've already had this stupid fight once.  _ 'Oh no, you're a ghoul' _ but now it's  _ 'Oh no, I'm a synth'." _

Danse finally cracked a tiny smile and turned his face away; Hancock could feel his breaths jerking out in a laugh. It was way more of a relief than he wanted to admit. He really, really didn’t like that other side he’d just seen. "C'mon, sit up, princess. You look like you're dead," he said, not unkindly.

Danse sighed and struggled up, leaning against the wall behind them with a strained  _ 'Alright'. _ He lifted a hand and scrubbed ineffectively at the blood drying to a tacky gloss over his chin and clumping into his beard. When he realized it wasn’t working he abandoned the effort, dropping his hands to his legs and looking over at Hancock with a sardonic raise of an eyebrow. "Well, let's talk if that's what you came here for, you stubborn ass."

Yeah, he supposed it was. Hancock turned and crowded up against him, resting his back against Danse's chest and bending his legs out in front of them. Enjoyed the heat of him and the way Danse’s big arms twitched in surprise and then comfortably crossed over his shoulders and wrapped around his waist, engulfing him. A low rumble passed through his chest from the body behind him. 

"I missed... this," Danse said, sounding like he may have been about to say something else. Hancock wasn't going to press it.

They sat in silence for a short while, just staring forward at the wall and old file cabinets in front of them and listening to each other’s slow breaths. Then Danse sighed again, heavy and loud, a noise of defeat. "I'm... a synth." He struggled over the words. It sounded like it might have been the first time he’d said them aloud.

Hancock stayed quiet, letting Danse get whatever he wanted out and not really knowing what input to give, besides. He'd heard plenty of stories or confessions from the myriad synths that visited Amari, but all that hadn't given him any deep insights on how to comfort someone going through the human-to-synth identity crisis. Eventually he might convince Danse to join him on one of his trips back to Goodneighbor and actually talk to the lady herself. But for now, maybe all Danse needed was an ear to listen to him.

"Arden Danse. That’s who I… thought I was. But this body is just ‘M7-97’. I have no idea how much of my life actually happened or how many people I thought I knew don't actually exist." The words came out in short staggers and rushes, each sentence being bit off. They slowly got smoother as he went on, but it was a rocky start. "I'm terrified of myself and didn't want anyone else to see me like this."

He paused and bent forward, touching his forehead to the back of Hancock's skull and sounding very contrite as he spoke. "I apologize for firing at you. The shot wouldn’t have connected, but I shouldn’t have done that. And for spitting on you. I think I was hoping to make you so angry you'd stop trying and leave me here."

Hancock wiped at where the hit had landed and theatrically smeared his dry hand over Danse’s forearm. "Yeah yeah, you’re very clever,” he smiled a little. “Believe me, I've had way worse shit on my face before, so don’t worry about it too much." Danse nodded against him and tightened his grip, shifting Hancock closer. He was silent again for a time and then continued.

"I never wanted to get attached to anything that wasn't the brotherhood. I lost someone important to me a long time ago, and didn't want to go through that again." He quieted and Hancock squeezed his arm, hoping it was reassuring in some way. "I was hoping to duck out before I got even more attached to ... these one-sided friendships people have been so generous to extend to me. And now that I'm ... I don't know.  _ This. _ I feel like I have even less to offer.

"I put everything I had… all my faith into the brotherhood because I thought they were safe. Stupid of me. Thought that they’d be there forever, and now... Well, they’re still there but I can’t... I’m not… not a paladin anymore.” Danse paused, breathing hard and voice an uneven warble but not yet cracking. Hancock felt he would cheerfully shoot Elder Maxson and proceed to piss on his dying corpse if the opportunity presented itself. “The scribe under my... damnit...  _ used _ to be under my command helped Knight Shaina find me here, but those two are the only ones who are still on my side. Any of the rest who see me will be obligated to kill me on sight." 

_ The disloyal bastards, _ Hancock thought.

As he'd been speaking, Danse's hands had been absently wandering. Up Hancock's waist, thumbing over his stomach, smoothing over his chest, and now the blunt fingertips were tracing along the curve of his jaw and down the tendons of his neck. Hancock hummed quietly and tilted his head back, a little mystified but not at all put off. The fingers tensed and jerked away, as if Danse was only just now realizing where they were. "Ah. Is this... inappropriate?" he asked haltingly.

Hancock relaxed backwards, giving Danse easier access to the rest of his neck and shoulders and let his hands fall to rest just above Danse's knees. "I'm kind of partial to inappropriate, to be honest. I'd just as soon the guy I'm having a heart-to-heart with feel me up as not."

Danse choked on a laugh and Hancock felt the long thigh muscles jump under his hands.

Hancock twisted around to tilt an eye up to Danse’s face. "And about the brotherhood, I know it's not the same, but you've still got us. All of us. We're a team." He smiled wide. "Not to get too mushy, but at the very least you've got a place with me if you ever happen to need it. What's the point of being the corrupt mayor of a city if you can't play favorites with your buddies?"

Danse snorted. "Huh. I don't know that I deserve it, but I appreciate it." Lips pressed delicately against the skin behind Hancock's ear and he shivered. Danse murmured to him, low and rumbling. “Hnnnh, I don't want to keep dwelling on this. I've already had nearly a week for that and it didn’t get me anywhere good.”

Hancock dragged his hands higher, sliding up the inseams nearly into dangerous territory. “Yeah, I bet. Sounds like a distraction might be good for you.” Fingers tightened and Danse breathed heavily against the side of his neck.

“These fallback locations aren’t meant to be used like this, but I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” Danse said, sounding nearly wistful as his hand slid through the V-shaped gap of Hancock’s shirt and thumbed short strokes across his collarbones. The touch was warm and solid and, by now, familiar enough. Though the long breaks they seemed to like to insert between meetings served as a good buffer against getting  _ too _ familiar with each other. Long enough to get the guards up again. Always just weird enough to have that little extra spark of excitement. 

“Nah, fuck ‘em. We can dirty it up real good for whoever comes here next.” He wasn’t sure if the storm was past or not, but at least this he knew how to do. It was easier than talking, anyway. Hancock turned, rolling over onto his knees between Danse’s legs and walking in closer. He leaned in, placing a hand on the wall behind Danse and Danse’s lips parted, eyes wide and interested. “Make a big fuckin’ mess, what do you think?”

“Sure,” Danse breathed. “Whatever you want, just...” His fingers curled around the back of Hancock’s neck and drew him down and in; lips chapped and bloody, scruff sharp against his face, and the unique stink of the Glowing Sea still hanging on him. He was perfect. Whatever else he thought he was, he was still just Danse. 

The kiss started sweet, nearly chaste. More of a greeting or reassurance of existence than anything else. Then it deepened, and Hancock sighed against him, enjoying the fit of Danse’s bigger lips against his thin ones. He reached up and threaded his fingers into Danse’s grimy mass of hair, gripping tight and pulling him roughly against him, biting his lip and sucking the slippery flesh into his mouth. A quiet moan came from Danse and he gripped hard onto Hancock’s hips with a desperate kind of strength, nearly pulling him over.

Hancock held Danse’s face in his hands, palms rubbing up through the flakes of blood and dirty beard and holding him still to whisper against his lips. “What do you need from me, huh? What can I give you?” Held him still and kissed him again, short and quick.

A low, listless sigh from Danse blew air back across him, warm in the cool air. “Just… make me forget. For a little while.” His eyes opened, dark and still hurting to look into Hancock’s fathomless black ones. His head tipped to the side, pressing his cheek into Hancock’s hand. “You can do that, you’re good at it.”

_ Argh, my heart.  _ “Do what I can, man. Get up here then,” he said, tugging at Danse and then standing. He’d do a lot, in fact, to get that kicked-dog look off Danse’s face. By the time Danse was up and leaning against the wall, Hancock had dropped his coat and shirt to the floor and kicked off his boots.

“And take that thing off, alright? I don’t think you need it anymore.” The jumpsuit itself was a wreck. Full of holes and smudged char. Hancock had brought a change of clothes for Danse at the behest of Shaina, knowing it was in bad shape and that he didn’t have anything else with him. But even beyond that, there was no reason for him to ever put the brotherhood uniform on again. Whenever they left, it would stay right there on the floor, maybe until a scout eventually passed through here again and wondered at it.  _ I don’t think you need  _ them _ anymore,  _ his mind amended.

Danse hesitated for just a moment, then nodded and started unbuckling the collar for the last time. His eyes and face shifted as he threaded the strap through the buckle, realization at Hancock’s words giving way to sadness then anger and finally somber acceptance as he unzipped and pulled his arms through the sleeves.

Hancock was torn as Danse’s form was exposed to him. On the one hand, he had one of the most perfect male bodies he’d ever seen and he could never not appreciate it. Thick with muscle and tendon, soft and rounded in all the right places, hard and flat in all the others. But on the other hand, Hancock’s mouth twisted down at what this mission and the aftermath had done to Danse. Ribs showing through too starkly, shiny pink marks where he’d been burned by laser fire and had only partially healed, wide scrapes of scabbed-up flesh over his upper arms and chest, and a massive, yellowed bruise covering most of his right side. Even with his height and the very sturdy shape of his body, all the injuries and the obvious wasting made him look so…  _ vulnerable. _ Maybe he could get Nick to help him out with Maxson’s imagined murder and subsequent piss baptism, he thought as he drew Danse back into his arms and held him there tightly.

“That’s better,” Hancock said, kicking the jumble of cloth away. It already looked like part of the faded debris that was scattered around the place. 

Their lips came together again, hard and eager. Hancock walked them backwards til he hit what he wanted with his heel. He released Danse and spun him around to press him into the low metal desk, one hand holding his hip and the other pushing his back down to lay him over the cold surface. Danse hissed and twitched his stomach away, but didn’t move to get up, letting Hancock hold him down and run his hands over his skin.

“Yeah, sorry. You might be thankful for the cold in a few minutes though.”

He pushed up against Danse, rubbing his dick against the backs of his naked thighs and trailed his fingertips down the soft skin of Danse’s back. Skimmed over the indent of his spine, down to the two shallow dimples right at the base of his back, and palmed across the pale, rounded globes of his ass. His cock throbbed at the thought of all this lovely flesh spread out for him to enjoy and his hands squeezed down hard. Whatever Danse had been created with, he had sure honed it into a masterpiece. Fuck. It was making him feel all poetic about it.

“You’re fuckin’ beautiful, Danny.”

Danse snorted and turned his head to the side, resting it on a folded arm and casting a derisive look down at his dirty and torn-up body while still managing to look fairly embarrassed. “Seriously?”

Unable to resist anymore, Hancock pulled the soft cheeks apart and kissed a wet line down to the tight pucker of skin. He smoothed a finger over it and flicked his tongue out lightly, getting a squirm and a harsh gasp of breath from Danse. “Believe it.”

Danse huffed but couldn’t keep it going, abruptly falling back into ragged breaths and quiet grunts as Hancock continued snaking his tongue around his slicked up finger. A filthy suck of his lips and tongue, and then he pressed in with his fingers and spread Danse open slowly, taking in the hot press of muscle around him and the high, keening cries Danse was voicing. 

This was a maddening test of patience. The need to drive his dick into that tight, pulsing hole was screaming in his head, but he waited. Two spit-slick fingers, stretching and relaxing, drove in and then pulled so so slowly back out. A long intermission of tongue and lips making hideously embarrassing sucking and slurping noises, but to hell with it. It was only the two of them and Hancock was loving it, and Danse was too busy trying to crush dual crimps into the far end of the desk and breathing out rough, unintelligible words to care at all. Then a third finger added in and Danse couldn’t take the wait anymore.

“Damnit. John,  _ please,” _ he groaned.

He hadn’t expected Danse to be the one to crack, but that was more than fine. Hancock’s pants were down and off in seconds and he spat into his hand to rub it over his cock real fuckin’ quick. He leaned down to give one last long, twisting lick before standing back up and pausing. “Are you sure, I was kinda hoping to just keep my tongue in here all night,” he said, even as he rolled a thumb lovingly over Danse’s hole and pumped his dick through his own curled fist.

Danse turned around again to fix him with a filthy look. Hancock ignored it and giggled to himself as he lined himself up with Danse. He rubbed against Danse’s asscrack and finally looked over at him where he was still glaring. “What? Got something to say?” He bucked harder and Danse snarled. “Wanna tell me to shut the fuck up and fuck your ass already?”

Danse rolled his eyes and turned away, Hancock still laughing at him. The ghoul smacked his hip good-naturedly and finally eased in. They both groaned aloud, Danse’s breath catching at each short press and Hancock captivated by the tight grasp around his dick. He rolled forward, pressing in deeper and feeling Danse clench around him. As he finally bottomed out, grinding his thighs and hips against hot skin, Danse jerked and moaned out a low, shuddery breath and reached a hand back to clamp Hancock’s leg still against his own.

“I’m pretty close.” His voice was husky with arousal and had a slight whine of apologetic urgency to it. “Haven’t gotten off in a month.”

The hand fell away and Hancock rolled his hips as slowly as he could, watching himself sink deep into Danse and feeling the light flutter of his muscles as he relaxed. Poor guy. He started feeling testy and on edge after a week of no action and couldn’t imagine how frantic he’d feel after a full month.

Hancock leaned down over his back, still making short, smooth thrusts into Danse. He kissed over Danse’s shoulders and breathed against him. “Alright, flip over then and move up a little.”

They readjusted, Danse laying on his back and Hancock scrambling up after him, hoping this shitty desk didn’t collapse under their combined weight. Well, he’d fuck him in the dirt if it did, probably wouldn’t hurt either of their looks much. Hancock slid back in and Danse grabbed his hips, drawing him forward and deeper. His head fell back, and the tendons in his neck and arms stuck out as he tensed and bucked. “What for?”

Hancock smiled and pressed Danse’s legs back against his body, leaning forward to hunch over him. He held Danse’s shoulders as he rocked slowly against him, looking at Danse’s half-shut eyes, the little scar curving through his right eyebrow, the strong blade of his nose, the damp and perfectly-shaped bows of his lips. If he was going to get sentimental, why not now? Perfect time. “I just like watching your face when you come.”

The scarred eyebrow lifted, inquiring, and then scrunched back down into a pleasured grimace as his muscles clenched hard again. “Why?” he panted out.

“I get to see all the restraint that’s usually there melt away. Watch you give in,” Hancock said, feeling the start of that low, deep throb as he leaned even closer and felt Danse’s dick jump against his stomach. He kissed Danse, barely a brush against the non-responsive, gasping lips. “My god, it gets me going.”

And it did. Danse clung harder to him, all muscles tight and grasping to the point of pain… and then it loosened and flowed away. Hands eased and slid down Hancock’s arms, legs gently looped around his back instead of the vice-like grappling hold, shoulders slumped down, and the constant look of concern that was usually on Danse’s face fell away. Brow relaxed and lips parted as he moaned and shifted through his orgasm. His eyes opened to look up at Hancock through dark lashes as he came back down, and that set Hancock off as well. Not as lovely as Danse’s, surely, but good enough for him. He felt the hot flood surge up and out as he clawed into Danse’s huge shoulders, still mindful enough to avoid the web of scratches covering his skin.

Breaths heaved out of Hancock’s mouth and his eyes fell closed. He felt Danse’s hands stroke up his arms and squeeze closed on his biceps. A soft, barely-heard ‘ _ Thank you _ ’, and he looked down again. Danse’s face was naked and open there, innocent and untroubled before slowly getting back into that focused mask he liked to wear. Hancock pulled out and leaned down one more time, a soft kiss above and between Danse’s eyebrows. He wasn’t sure what he was being thanked for exactly, but that was okay. “You got it.” He slapped Danse’s arm. “Let’s get back home, man.”

Hancock hopped back down to the floor, scrounging up his pants and Danse sat up, grimacing at what was probably a sore and slimy ass. “Yeah,” he muttered, scratching dirty nails through dirtier hair and heaving one last resolute sigh. “Let’s go home.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Danse gets clean and then gets dirty again, ayyy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Penultimate chapter of this particular story. We're gettin' real dang wordy now. 
> 
> And with it comes updates? Did a whole bunch of error correcting on 1-4 (punctuation, event clarification, mismatched tense, unclear subjects, sentence structure, tiny additions, very slight changes on who did which action, behavioral oddities) and also changed the wording on a few things here and there that made me go ‘Euch, Jesus’ every time I saw them, but the gist of everything is still very much the same. Also, [here](https://i.imgur.com/ddrQ77D.png), gaze upon the old cover image I have over on ffnet.
> 
> The only major change is the big blow up at the end of chapter 2. I never liked how speedy and nonsensical that whole thing was, even when I first published it. So that’s now (quite) a bit longer and hopefully feels a little more natural. I mean, I know it’s not what we’re all here for, but I bet someone cares :v Actually, I don’t know your life, maybe you _are_ here for awkward shouting, in which case: Happy Birthday to you.
> 
> And these last two chapters will probably need tuning in the future but, like with everything, I’m impatient and tired of sitting on this. (Final chapter coming... some time, some day. Ugh.) Read the whole thing again and play spot-the-difference if you want to, or just jump into this chapter ass-first if you’re antsy about it. Either way: please enjoy, I hope you do.

It was nice to be back. The weeks the expedition had spent traveling to and through the Glowing Sea had been gruelling, for lack of a better word. Exhausting to the mind as well as the body. Just seeing all the destruction and how absolutely  _ poisoned  _ everything was had made Danse feel sick with disgust and some vague melancholy. And then the… what had happened at Sentinel site. Fleeing and camping out at the listening post, trying but unable to make a real decision on what to do with himself.

He shook his head as he walked up the steps to his door to lay his hand against the frame, the flaking paint and pitted wood solid and real under his palm.  _ Great _ to be back, actually. The small house looked the same as it had when he’d left it; windows and door waiting to be opened again, workbench covered with metal scraps and colorful twists of wire from his last project, the western he’d been reading still wedged in place behind the lone porch chair. Like he’d only been gone a day or two.

“Finally fuckin’ made it, holy shit.” Hancock strolled up behind him, swinging his knapsack from one shoulder to the other and stretching his back. “Guess I’ll go let emergency dispatch know we’re back in one piece.”

Hopefully Knight Shaina wasn’t too upset with him; neither of the times they’d parted had been too friendly. In fact, he’d probably frightened her pretty badly. Both times, and for different reasons. There had been extenuating circumstances, but that still didn’t forgive the way he’d acted. Christ.

Danse turned away from the door when he realized Hancock hadn’t left yet. He’d crossed his arms over the low railing by the stairs and had his chin resting in his hand. 

“You up for havin’ some company after I tell her?” 

Danse leaned against the side of the house and scanned around, taking in the grey pre-dawn sky and the utter stillness that was unusual for the settlement. “‘Company’?”

“Yeah. You know, that thing people like to do sometimes. Why, you got plans already?”

“Aren’t you tired?” Danse asked. They’d walked all night, nearly non-stop. He’d take the blame for that one, not feeling comfortable out in the daylight and in the open so soon after. But they’d made it here, and it was safe to rest again. Saf _ er _ anyway. Of course the brotherhood knew of this settlement and that he bunked here, but Danse had to go with his assumption that he was too much of an embarrassment to Arthur that there wouldn’t be a manhunt.  _...Synth _ hunt.

Hancock shrugged and shook his head. “Nah, endless, infinite energy. Pre-tty sure it’s all the chems.”

Danse scoffed at the remark and then looked down at himself. “I think I need to shower; get some sleep if I can.” The borrowed clothes were in acceptable condition, but the rest of him was still smeared with grime and ash and just generally had the appearance of someone who’d spent too long sleeping in the woods. He’d made do with the stale cave water he’d had access to, but it’d had nearly as much sediment in it as liquid, and thirst had been more on his mind at the time than hygiene. But now it was definitely at the forefront. Get the weird, burned smell of the Glowing Sea off his skin and out of his hair, shave off what was now nearly a full beard, and finally disinfect and clean up these burns and scratches that still throbbed uncomfortably when his clothes shifted over them.

A small smile crossed Hancock’s face; eyes wide and guileless. It was an odd look on him. “I could help with that.”

“Right. How selfless of you,” Danse said, not at all taken in. But for all the jokes and insinuations, the concern was touching, if unnecessary. He didn’t know if Hancock expected him to have another breakdown if he was left to his own devices, but he absolutely was not planning on it. Didn’t want to do anything  _ remotely _ close to that again.

“You know me, always ready to lend a hand.” Hancock tilted his head and gave up the act, eyes losing the wide, ‘Who, me?’ look and roaming where they wanted. “If we’re bein’ totally honest, it’s between this or I’ll probably go take my turn peeling mutfruits and shucking corn with Hartwell and them ‘til I drop off, and I think hanging out with you might be more interesting.”

“ _ Might _ be?”

Hancock grinned. “Possibly. You have your moments.”

That might be fair. 

“C’mon, don’t make me beg, princess. Though I guess you can if you want.” Hancock thoughtfully pinched his lower lip and let his tongue touch the pad of his thumb as it slid away. His grin came back full-force as Danse’s breath hitched. “I’m pretty good at it.”

And there was  _ that _ . Even through the layers of dirt, unkempt appearance, and his newfound status as a synth… Hancock still didn’t seem to care. Still flirting as hard as ever, in fact.  _ Degenerate _ , he thought, lacking any real malice or conviction.

Danse sighed, poorly pretending at indifference while his heartbeat jumped and he replayed that slow flicker of tongue in his mind. As long as he wasn’t expecting any acrobatics. “If that’s what you want, then I won’t turn down the company,” he said slowly.

Hancock gave the porch rail a decisive pat and spun away. “Nice. Back soon.”

Danse watched him leave, red coat swishing against the backs of his knees as he walked and that ridiculous, ever-present hat perched on his head. When Hancock vanished past the corner of the neighboring house Danse turned away, jiggled the doorknob until it unstuck, and pushed into his room.

He breathed out, looking around in the silence. His mind and body were overworked and he felt like he was running on a hard, jittery autopilot. So wired that it was hard to feel the anger that wanted to spill out; his mind wouldn’t focus on what exactly he was upset about (Losing his humanity? Losing his position in the brotherhood? Losing all the  _ people _ in the brotherhood? Losing his past?) or who he wanted to be upset with (Himself? Arthur? The Institute? The small party of fellow soldiers that had so quickly turned on him at the missile silo? And then further away and nastier: Haylen, Hancock, and Shaina for not just giving up and letting him go? ...Though he knew that last couldn’t be right or fair and quashed it as neatly as he could.). It was a strange set of circumstances. An overload of things and events and concepts that should have made him furious, but instead just rendered him quiet and blank, not wanting to think about any part of it too hard. None of the parts, and not the whole either. That was worse.

He realized he was just standing, staring at the bare walls and filled with that thunderous, encircling squeeze of stress. His neck creaked as he rolled his head around to look at his bed. Even though he really needed it, sleep seemed far, far out of his reach. And the pitiful sleep he had managed to get recently never felt like it did enough. He dropped his pack and rifle by the door and hoped a shower and the familiarity of this place would be enough to bring him back down.

He entered the small, adjoined bathroom and mechanically stripped his clothes off. Shrugged off his jacket, pulled the cotton shirt up and over his head (holotags gone, an unconscious frown crossing his face as he reached for them and they weren’t there), unbuttoned the jeans and slid them down his legs along with boots and socks, leaving him in his shorts and everything else in a crumpled, forgotten pile on the floor. The clean tile felt fantastic under his hot feet.

At least from what he could see, which was everything sans his face and back, he wasn’t in too bad of shape. A few burn marks and the big scraped-up areas when his power armor had started failing was the worst of it. Looked bad and still  _ felt _ plenty bad, he observed as he prodded along the pink edges, wincing. Besides that, he’d lost some of the protective layer of fat over his ribs, though not enough to really be noticeable, there was a big discolored area over his side, and one of his knees looked swollen, but there was nothing truly serious. It had been a lot worse. He was a little glad Hancock hadn’t been there to see him when he’d first arrived at the listening post; he’d caught how strangely angry he looked when he’d already used the few medical supplies he’d had and had time to heal some.

He reached up for the medicine cabinet, meaning to pull out his first aid kit and the few stims he had stashed there, but his eyes fell on the attached mirror and his hand hesitated. He watched his reflection’s brow crease into a frown as he leaned in closer and pulled the chain next to it, the fluorescent bulb above clattering and coming to life with a weak pop. 

_ Jesus. _ He looked like hell. 

Hair and beard overlong, cheeks thin, eye sockets hollow and bruise-colored, lips pale and dry, remnants of blood and layers of unknown filth ground into his skin and clinging to his hair. He sighed and touched his face, rough fingers pulling the skin taut over bones and turning for different angles. No open sores or burns that weren’t caused by laser fire, so thankfully he hadn’t gotten any serious radiation poisoning.  _ Can synths even get radiation poisoning? _ he wondered distractedly. He was still leaning into the silvery surface when Hancock spoke from the doorway, startling him.

“Y’know, you get prettier every time I see you.”

Danse pulled back from the mirror and looked away a little guiltily. He ran his hand down his cheek, grimacing when little flakes of dried gunk sifted down into the sink. “I’m in worse shape than I thought.”

Hancock snorted and stepped into the small, now overcrowded room, pushing up next to him and setting down the few things he was carrying on the stepstool under the sink. “Fine,  _ don’t _ take the compliment, jerkass. You look disgusting. I’ve never seen anything so hideous.” Danse breathed out a shaky laugh and dropped his hands back down away from his face. 

Hancock shuffled back around to face him. “Alright. Sit, ugly.” The ghoul pressed the top of his shoulder and he followed the warm hand down with a huff, sitting on the closed lid of the toilet and looking up at Hancock’s face above him. The dark eyes traced over him, patiently roaming across his dirty face, up to his hair, and settling back down on his eyes. The hand on his shoulder slid up the side of his neck, thumb rubbing into the soft spot under his chin. “Bein’ serious for a minute, how are you, man? You were pretty quiet on the way back.”

Danse licked his lips and drank in the warmth radiating off Hancock, from his body and the hand still firm against his throat. He blinked and searched inward, easily locating that deep-seated coal of aimless anger sealed under layers and layers of thick, blank  _ nothing.  _ Maybe it’d be good to tell someone about what had happened, but not now. It was still too fresh. He’d screamed and railed at the walls and punched everything within range down in the listening post when trying to think about what happened. Anything deeper than the basic surface thoughts elicited this horrible wrenching feeling and then everything had just come out in an ugly, unstoppable flood. So yeah, he’d been quiet on the way back. Probably be quiet for a while still.

“Not very good,” he said, gazing somewhere past Hancock’s shoulder. “But things always get easier with time, right.”

Hancock’s eyes crinkled with a smile and he stooped a little to brush his lips over Danse’s. Warm and sweet and entirely too brief. “Mmhm. Ain’t that the truth.” He gently knocked their foreheads together, closed his eyes, and blew out a breath before straightening up again. “And now… we gotta get you cleaned up. Wanna get started?”

To be honest, after that he was suddenly no longer fixed so hard on immediate cleanliness. Diverted into wanting lips on his and arms around him and the heat of another person pressed up against him. God, just how starved for physical attention was he? Enough to twine his hands into the hang of Hancock’s jacket and awkwardly ask for it; cheeks shading pink under the dirt and looking up through his eyelashes, leaving the invitation there. “Do whatever you want.”

Hancock growled through a toothy grin, eyes both surprised and speculative. He sank down over Danse, bending a leg and half-kneeling half-sitting in his lap, palms flat against his chest. It felt far too nice and he leaned into it gratefully. Years and years of self-imposed restrictions on how tactile he got with other people had left him very susceptible to touch when it did happen. And he got the feeling Hancock had long since picked up on that.

“Come on now, we’re not gonna get anything productive done if you say things like that,” Hancock murmured, rubbing his cheek along Danse’s to take his earlobe in his teeth and pinching a little too hard.

“That’s… fine,” he said, shuddering and gripping hard onto Hancock’s hips, pulling him a little closer and biting his lip when Hancock’s thighs pressed up against his sides.

“No no no, let’s do this right.” Hands petted through his hair and pulled softly, tipping his head back so he could see the careful, intent look on Hancock’s face. All the lines and dips were harshly outlined by the stark lighting, the red of his coat almost luminous. “Shay’s gonna chew the both of us out if she sees you like this,” he said, thumbing over his cheekbone and lightly tugging on his beard. But he leaned in again and kissed him anyway, slow and deep. Breath fanning warm over his mouth and tongue sliding wetly over his lip. 

Danse wanted badly to crush him closer and carry him off to the other room, but instead just settled for the first part; skimming his hands up under the back of his shirt, pressing his fingertips tight into the wiry muscles of Hancock’s shoulders, and sighing when Hancock’s chest lay flush against his. He was right, of course. Damnit, of all the times for the lunatic to act responsible. 

Hancock broke away, lips twitching into a faint smile and hand coming up to pat his cheek. Danse was a little gratified to see the hard pulse running under his jaw and the way his mouth was hanging open just a touch.

“Let’s just get this done first,” Hancock breathed. “Okay? Work first and play after.”

Danse grumbled but released his hold, letting Hancock pull away and get back to his feet. He took a deep, steadying breath and then stood as well to grudgingly get back to it. He turned on a trickle of water in the narrow floor shower in the corner, stuck his hand under the spray, and sighed at the feeling.

“Y’wanna haircut before you jump in?”

Danse glanced back, eyebrows raised. “A… really?”

Hancock looked up from where he’d shrugged off his coat and pulled a pair of long-bladed scissors from his stuff on the stepstool. They made a pleasant  _ snick _ sound as he closed them after a quick examination of the business end. “Not as good as John and Kathy back in Diamond City, but yeah.” He paused, looking a little indignant at Danse’s expression. “ _ What _ . I still remember how to take care of the stuff; hasn’t been that long.”

Danse accepted, though feeling a little odd about it. Hancock  _ had  _ said he wanted to help, but he hadn’t really thought he was serious. A haircut also seemed overly... personal? Was that it? But he was too worn down by everything to really think of a reason  _ why _ he’d want to say no to any kind of assistance or care. 

He briefly ducked his head under the weak stream of water from the shower and frowned at the already dark grey color in the run-off. Ash from the Glowing Sea and the centuries-old dust of the listening post. He dropped back to his seat and let Hancock comb through his wet hair, shifting around as the water dripped down his shoulders. 

As he worked, Hancock kept up a fairly steady run of low background noise; stuff that had happened around the area while Danse and co had been away; random news snippets heard over the Diamond City radio station and the slightly more makeshift one run by the Minutemen; a story about Shaina’s dog getting inexplicably stuck inside an old armchair and the resulting chaos; a few hummed bars of music when he didn’t have a new topic to immediately fall into. 

Between the familiar stream of words and the primal satisfaction of being so carefully groomed and tended to, he felt fantastically at ease and just  _ good _ . It was hard to keep from moaning as Hancock scratched over his scalp and pulled the strands up tight to trim off the ends. It was equally hard to keep his head from slumping forward with how relaxed the whole thing was making him. He laughed and shook himself when Hancock muttered ‘Don’t zonk out, okay, I don’t need a hair fuck up on my record.’

The beard was next, an equally tricky affair with Danse’s straight razor. He had never thought of shaving his face as a calming thing, preferring to get it done quickly and with as little fuss as possible. Maybe it was just because it was someone else doing it, or the hypnotizing rhythm of the rasp against hair and then the quiet glide against the towel to clean the blade, or just the tiredness creeping up again. Maybe all three. He laughed even harder when Hancock poked him and grumbled ‘And I  _ really _ don’t need a razor-blade-on-neck fuck up on my record.’ It was probably the tiredness.

And finally, _ finally _ , the shower itself. Danse stripped off his shorts and slumped under the spray; luxuriated in the water pouring down over him, carrying away the stray hairs, grime, dried blood, old sweat… memories in dirt. He nearly choked up at the feel of the soothing flow of water down his body, letting out a long, shuddering sigh of contentment. Fuck, he’d needed this. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the tile for a minute or two, losing himself in the cool, quiet patter before Hancock gave him an impatient pinch on the ass and tossed a washcloth at the back of his head.

When it was done, and the only thing he was doing was selfishly wasting water, Hancock turned back to his stuff again and let Danse dry off. The rough towel caught unpleasantly on the scabbed up skin of his chest and shoulders and he hissed at the pull.

“Got somethin’ for that if you want it.”

Danse watched as Hancock located a plastic bottle filled with a clear gel, running the towel over his head one last time before draping it over the showerhead. He had a fairly good idea what it was, but asked anyway. Force of habit.

“This? On loan from our lovely Miss Curie.” He glanced down and read the pen-marked masking tape on the back. “Aloe vera and lidocaine, she wouldn’t let me leave until I took it.” He unsnapped the cap and squeezed a little onto his fingers, rubbing them together experimentally and then beckoning. “C’mere.”

It was thoughtful of her. The aloe would help speed healing of the burns and abrasions and lidocaine was a mild anesthetic, if he was remembering right. Danse stepped closer and let Hancock reach up and touch his fingers to the raw, red marks on his chest. The gel was cold and silky over his skin and he couldn't think of the last time he’d used the older, more conventional methods of healing instead of the sharp pinch and rush of stimpaks and med-x when needed. It was a pleasant change and he shivered as it was slicked carefully over his shoulders and arms.

“ _ And, _ if you like…” Hancock trailed off, once the half-empty bottle was placed back on the stepstool.

Danse’s eyes fixed on the tiny blue pill now balanced on the tip of Hancock’s finger. Knowing the ghoul, that little broken triangle could be  _ any _ thing and Danse asked again, this time not having an inkling of the answer.

“What is that?”

“You don’t have to, but it’s not dangerous.” Hancock said, smiling at the cautious frown on Danse’s face. “It’s not one of the fun ones. Just let it dissolve under your tongue and you’ll have a few really nice hours of sleep when it starts working. Looked like you could use it so I thought I’d share.” He crooked his finger a slight bit in a gentle come-on. “Take it, or don’t. And I’ll take you to bed.”

His old self would have burst out in an affronted tirade at what he was currently doing. Would have called it an appalling lack of common sense and wondered why on earth he was taking the word of a civilian wastelander at face value. 

Well, because he trusts him.

Would also have had something to say about the reaction to that last thing he’d said; the soft, hungry promise. ‘Why would you take that kind of disrespect from a ghoul?’ would have been the angry lecture. Why was his response to it a ripple of heat down his neck and chest instead of a fist or rifle butt to the jaw?

Because, god, he wants him.

He reached out, folding his hand softly around the thin wrist to keep it steady and sucked the pill off his finger. The bitter taste was well worth the look that dropped over Hancock’s face as he looked up, lips pulling off his fingertip.

“Take me then.” 

Hancock practically dragged him back into the main room, maneuvering him over to the bed and gracelessly shoving him down onto it. The sheets and pillowcase clung to his sticky back, a detail quickly forgotten as Hancock crawled over him, straddling his bare hips and planting his hands on either side of Danse’s head. A light chill raced over him when Hancock leaned in and breathed against the damp, freshly shaved skin of his neck. “Damnit, Danse. What is the  _ matter _ with you?” he said, sounding more frustrated and amused than actually upset.

Danse made a quiet questioning noise as his hands settled over the slight curve of Hancock’s waist.

Teeth pricked against the base of his throat and trailed a sharp line upwards, finally splitting wide apart and sinking deep into the flesh just under his ear. A high moan escaped Danse and he clawed up into ribs and spine as the pain hit him. “You drive me fucking insane, you little shit,” Hancock whispered, shifting over and turning Danse’s face to the side to lick over the bite marks.

“Do you realize,” he continued, burying his face there, lips pressed firm against Danse’s pulse as he moaned again and dug his fingers into Hancock’s thighs. “How hard it was to keep my hands off you this entire time?” He certainly wasn’t keeping them off now; one arm was tucked back on his chest and the hand curled over his shoulder, fingers teasing against the short cut hair at the back of his neck. The other roved over his clavicles and over the shallow dip at the base of his neck. 

“Was it?” Danse asked, his voice shaky. 

“I have got the  _ worst _ self-control and you just keep pushing it.” Hancock’s lips chased where his fingers had been, kissing down his throat and over the slick skin of his bruised collarbones. Danse’s lips parted and he tilted his head back into his pillow, exhaling loudly.

“I’m… sorry?” He wasn’t, but couldn’t really think of anything else to say with Hancock’s mouth and hands all over him, hot and suffocating. He’d wanted this, but hadn’t expected how intense it all felt. Every time Hancock’s teeth grazed his skin or his nails tightened into his side he flinched and sucked in a breath; each touch like a tiny, stinging burst of harmless fire. And the way he kept grinding his ass down...

“Not yet you’re not, you sexy fuckin’ tease.” Hancock’s tongue flicked over his nipple as he slid down off his legs to settle between them. Danse spread his thighs and lifted his knees a little to allow him in. “But that’s later. Right now? I think you should just relax and let me do whatever I want to you.” And then his smirking face was lowering back down to Danse’s body, teasing kisses over his hips and the curve of muscle at the bottom of his stomach. A hand lay flat over his dick, both keeping it out of the way and lending some small, insufficient amount of pressure for him to push up into as lips and tongue brushed over his skin.

Danse groaned as Hancock pressed the remains of his nose into the thick patch of his pubic hair, breathing in and mouthing softly at the base of him. Damned if it didn’t feel amazing; delicate and nearly careful after the aggressive words of a few minutes ago. But of course, his brain picked now to toss out a distraction; one of those random spikes of disquiet. Even as Hancock’s warm, flat hand slid up Danse’s cock and back down, shifting the silky skin with it and making his hips rock up helplessly, there was still that little thread of doubt. The one that was always there, but even more distinct in his mind now.  _ Why would you still want this? Don’t you know what I am? _ it said as he looked down into the dark mirrors of Hancock’s eyes staring back at him.

He was abruptly and painfully knocked out of the thought by Hancock turning his head and digging his teeth into the softest part of his thigh. Danse barked out a sharp grunt and clamped one of his hands around the back of Hancock’s head in warning. The ghoul just smiled at the move and slowly let the flesh slide from between his teeth. His tongue slid up the red mark on Danse’s leg, not doing much to soothe the sting. “I know that look on your face, man. Seen it on my own enough times. Whatever you’re thinking about, quit it. It can wait for later.”

Danse wrinkled his nose, blushing at being read so easily. Yeah. Worrying about the impermanence of people and other depressing, existential nonsense wasn’t really conducive to any of this.

He drew in a deep breath as Hancock edged even closer. “You’re right. Sorry,” Danse said again. It was a little more truthful than last time. “I didn’t mean... to… mmm.” He completely lost what he was saying as Hancock flattened his tongue and licked him all the way from base to tip, pausing to wrap his lips around the head and smooth his tongue up the underside. 

Hancock laughed at him, probably at the ridiculous noise he’d just made and the dazed expression he knew was on his face. “Fuck, you’re cute.” He reached a hand down briefly to adjust himself and untuck his shirt. “And you’re supposed to be relaxing so that pill can work.” A soft, breathy kiss to the tip of him. “Okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed, unconsciously nodding. He didn’t really trust himself to try for anything lengthier.

“There ya go, princess. Just be easy and don’t think too hard,” he said. “Cuz I really…” Hancock’s thumb slid under his balls and raised them, his tongue licking a hot trail up his perineum. Danse squirmed and his hands tensed hard in the sheets and on the base of Hancock’s skull. “... _ really _ wanna eat you out.”

Danse’s breath rushed out. “Oh, god.” His voice was tiny and helpless as Hancock easily shifted him around. Thoughts of anything else fled as hot hands pushed his thighs up and apart, bringing his knees almost up to chest level and leaving everything open and waiting. There was maybe a second or two to be embarrassed, Hancock murmuring ‘ _ Look at that _ ’ before his mouth was on him again, wet and consuming. His head fell back, breathing through his teeth and the muscles of his stomach tensing. Hancock’s tongue slicked up his hole and his hands chased after, thumbs almost touching the puckered skin and then pressing outward to stretch him apart. The fingers digging into the muscles of his thighs were almost as good as the tongue; a wet, slippery massage that just kept spreading and opening.

The minutes stretched out and all Danse could feel was the press of tongue, now firm and penetrating, and now soft and silky over his burning flesh. All he could hear was the steady thunder of his heart, the pulsing rush of his blood, and the faint sighs and groans that were streaming from him at each lick and squeeze. The wet sounds of Hancock’s mouth prying him apart and breaking him down into a shivering wreck.

And then Hancock pulled back, but didn't move away. His thumb rubbed light circles over Danse’s hole, teasing over it with a firm pressure before finally slipping into him. It was an easy slide in and Danse met it with a low  _ ahhhn _ of acceptance.   


“Fuuuck, that’s it,” Hancock groaned. “You’re so fuckin’ soft.” Hungry eyes stared down at where the digit was sinking deeper and then curling up into him. The intrusion was more than welcome; the slight pressure and the gentle back and forth made his legs twitch and tremble.

Hancock dipped his head back down and flattened his tongue over Danse's balls, sweeping upwards and ending with a kiss to his shaft. His dark eyes were fixed on Danse’s face, watching the way his mouth hung open with short, fluttery breaths and how his brows twisted down in concentration. “Feel good? Doin’ okay?” 

Danse could feel the pill really working on him now. Everything seemed a little quieter and softer and his eyes were most comfortable when they were closed, but oh yeah, everything else felt just fine. “Yeah,” he whispered. If the deep, rhythmic throbbing and heat spreading outwards from where Hancock was still sliding in and out of him was anything to go by, he was close. Could feel the end waiting for just one more touch.

“I know I say this a lot, but sheesh, you should see yourself when you’re like this.”

Danse just shook his head slowly and murmured, “Come on.”

Hancock did as he was asked, thankfully not teasing like he looked like he wanted to. Just wrapped his fingers and lips around Danse’s cock and sucked him down with a confident skill that quickly had him arching against his bed and his head lolling back against his pillow in abandon. The wet slide over his cock and into his ass sent him easily into what felt like a slow-motion eruption of warm, pulsing bliss. He shook through it; breath hoarse, body convulsing, and hands grasping desperately onto Hancock’s head and the back of his neck as he tried to pull him in even closer than he was. 

Hancock slid up, releasing his grasp on Danse and letting himself be dragged up into a soft, sleepy kiss. Danse could feel the way Hancock’s lips were a little swollen and could taste the bitter saltiness of his own come when his tongue glided against the ghoul’s. Maybe it was delirium from being so tired and not letting himself sleep or maybe it was just Hancock knowing exactly how to drive him wild, but the kisses were overpoweringly intense and left him reeling. When Hancock moved back to sit up again, Danse caught him by the arms and pulled him in for one final press of lips. Slow and easy and full of gratitude. He hoped Hancock could feel it.

“What about you?” Danse asked as Hancock straightened back up.

“Me? Eh...” Hancock looked down at himself with a laugh and dragged a palm over his pants where his dick was really obviously straining against the material. “Didn’t wanna bother you with that, was gonna go take care of it in a sec,” he said, still touching himself, tracing the bulge with one finger. “But if you  _ want _ …” Danse nodded, eyes following his hand. “...think I can give you a show.”

Hancock moved a bit further back down the bed. He leaned back on his heels, kneeling with his knees spread wide. Fingers unbuttoned the shirt and pulled the halves apart, baring his slim chest and stomach. “Don’t move,” he said, unlacing his pants and pulling himself free. “Just stay… right there. Just like that.” 

It was getting more difficult to keep his eyes open, the lids staying closed for longer every time he blinked, but Danse made a pretty valiant effort. Just to watch Hancock tilt his body back, all his long muscles held tight; head thrown back with his eyes half-closed and looking back at Danse’s naked and slick form; fist tightly curling over his cock as he rolled his hips up slow and twisting; and then gasping quietly as he came, eyes intently locked on Danse’s as thick drops of white arced up over his stomach and fingers. Jesus, he knew how to move.

Hancock heaved a low sigh and returned to a more comfortable slouch. “How’s that?” he asked, grinning at the vaguely stunned look on Danse’s face and his low whisper of  _ ‘Fuck.’ _

“Not... bad,” he said, a little flushed and properly breathless. Danse glanced downward and twisted his mouth into a wry, half-lidded smile. “But get your boots off my bed.”

Hancock paused, looked down, and then rolled his eyes. “Oh, fuck off.” He pretended to flick his dripping fingers at Danse and then slid off the bed, groping around for something to finish cleaning up with. When he came back he jerked the sheet up, fluffed it out, and then drew it up and over Danse. As it settled over him, he sat on the edge of the mattress near Danse’s waist and looked down at him as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

“Yeah, I’d say it’s workin’. Just close ‘em, brother.” 

He let his eyes fall shut, relieved, but couldn’t stop himself from grimacing at Hancock’s word choice.

“Please don’t call me that… after… that.”

There was another pause and then a quiet giggle. “Not into that kinda stuff, huh?” There was a snap and the brightness on his eyelids faded to just the dim morning light coming through the windows. “Come out and get some dinner when you wake up, alright? And then after that, if you’re up to it, come find us. It sounded like the crew has a long night of drinking ahead and I bet we could use an extra man to help soak it up.”

Danse wasn’t sure who ‘the crew’ was, but he had a pretty good guess if there was alcohol involved. It… could be nice. He’d very, very rarely joined in on social drinking or celebrations on the Prydwen or back at headquarters; he’d never liked the way his professionalism fled after only a few drinks. He’d always felt like he was directly sabotaging his own authority with how overly familiar he and everyone else became. But all of that was… well and truly the past now. 

“Yeah, I might,” he said slowly, not really wanting to agree or not right now with his mind full of fog and his body heavy and soft under the blankets. He felt Hancock shift, probably about to stand and leave him to rest and he opened his eyes again, putting a hand out to touch his arm. 

“John.” 

Hancock stilled and met his gaze, eyes questioning. 

“Does anyone know?”

“Hm? Know what?” He looked honestly confused.

“That I’m…” He hated saying it, every single time. His… ugh.  _ Designation _ kept clattering around his head whenever the thought came back up and made itself known.  _ M7-97. _ And he’d spent a lot of the last week or so thinking it to himself. Trying to make it real enough that he couldn’t keep ignoring it, unsettling as it was. “...not a human.”

“Oh.” Hancock smiled again, but it looked a little pained. The way his jaw tightened and his eyes pinched in just a touch. “Look, the real question you should be asking is ‘Does anyone care?’. And if you don’t know the answer to that one, you should really stop being such a fuckin’ hermit. In fact, listen, here’s a closely guarded secret,” he shifted into a stage whisper, “a few of us aren’t human either.” 

Danse rolled his eyes, but he took the point. It was a good one.

Hancock dropped the voice and smiled again, a bit more genuinely now. “Some of ‘em do, yeah. I know it’s gonna take a while for you to even entertain this, but it ain’t so bad, really. Besides, you got to keep your skin and hair and that fantastic ass; I don’t see what you’re so hung up on.” 

Danse snorted, even though it wasn’t really that funny and Hancock laughed along with him quietly. And now he really couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore. He felt dry lips briefly touch the skin over his eyebrow and then the warmth and weight at his side was gone. As he sank in deeper, black enclosing him on all sides, he faintly heard Hancock say something before he went out. “Sleep, man. And come on out if you’re feelin’ it. It’ll be a good time.”


End file.
